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shi-chimera · 4 years ago

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Balan Wonderworld headcanons have been rattling around in my head for a while now so I'm just gonna plop them here. Enjoy, don't enjoy, whatever.

◇General◇

-The Balan Theater is MASSIVE and works much like the door in Howl's Moving Castle. Anyone can access it from a number of dilapidated old buildings if they know which ones to look for.

-The theater has at least two dozen rooms, a large restaurant style kitchen, a full bar, and a massive library with window seats, a day bed, and roughly five thousand books at any given time. The books change out at random because the library has a mind of its own.

-Other rooms include Balan and Lance's bedrooms (they live in the theater), Balan's office, and some guest rooms and lounge/living room type spaces. Some of the rooms have flippable floors and sliding walls to convert them into smaller or different rooms.

-The building also has a small rear courtyard with a single, ENORMOUS tree in it. There are also some small flowerbeds and in one corner by the building is a dumpster.

-The theater's porch lights indicate if an exterior door (i.e. an entrance) is active or not. If the lights are on, the doors are open!

♡Balan♡

-Balan feeds off positive emotions and energy. It's part of why he entertains people. Smiling people are happy and happy people keep him going.

-The most extra person you can find, and has a fixation with his appearance. The smallest stain or speck of dirt, loose thread, etc. and he LOSES HIS MIND. He WILL throw an absolute drama queen level spectacle. Everything he does is over the top.

-High energy, so much so that he tends to fidget, pace, or other wise be in constant motion to burn it all off. He's also ambidexterous, but favors his left so you're likely to see him writing paperwork or lifting things with his left hand more often.

-Is an excellent chef and will cook you the most delicious meal you've ever eaten.

-Balan enjoys tea (in a traditional cup and saucer, Earl Grey in particular), but enjoys it more with cookies. If you bring him tea, make yourself a cup too because he will insist you also have one. He will also probably share a cookie with you. Save yourself a headache and just take it. He considers anything he gives you a gift and if you decline or throw it away he will be very upset and assume you don't like him anymore. You can, however, throw away napkins and the like, of course.

-NEVER drops the smile if he can at all help it. He can and will be in emotional distress and you'd never know unless you knew what to look for. Subtle eye movements and shifts in his posture reveal his mood. Will drum his fingers in specific patterns to calm himself down depending on how he's feeling, though you'll almost never see them.

-He only takes off his hat around people he trusts wholely with every fiber of his being. Lance is one of the few. He's quite pretty underneath, with finely swirling gold patterns all over him similar to Lance and a golden heart shape on his forehead (also like Lance).

-He likes wine, especially red wine. He has a high alcohol tolerance. Can and WILL drink you under the table. He gets extra flirty when he's properly drunk, and if you can get him talking he'll definitely lose track of how much he's had. He can phase objects through one another, so you'll frequently see him fill his glass by tipping it against a bottle.

-Likes to play around with a vaudeville hook and will hook Lance out of the ether if they try to phase out of a conversation or if he expressly needs something from them.

-He's HUGE and all the furniture in the theater is sized for humans, and I do mean ALL OF IT, so his lanky ass looks ridiculous sitting on any kind of furniture. There is one exception to this and that is his bed.

-Speaking of, his room is huge and decked out in a red/white/gold/navy color scheme (hmm, I wonder why?). It has wall panels. He has a walk in closet filled to the brim and a large vanity with a mirror edged in lights. It's also MESSY. Piles of clothes, random objects, makeup all over the vanity. The bed is a 3/4 circle, and it wasn't his idea. Lance actually had it put in while Balan was distracted.

-Why did Lance get Balan a new bed? Well, Balan USED TO sleep in a human sized bed, and he sleeps like he's dead. As such, he can and did fall out of bed every night without fail, usually taking a nightstand or other large object out on the way down and not waking up at all. The crashing sounds kept waking Lance up and they had enough of that.

-Threw a hissyfit when Lance got him the new bed without permission. Sleeps splayed out in the "starfish" position, usually tangled up in the sheets like they came alive and tried to strangle him. One or more limbs will usually be hanging over the side, including his head. Doesn't fall out of the new bed NEARLY as often.

-If you fall asleep in the theater, expect to wake up in that bed. He will insist you sleep in comfort, and the bed is big enough for five people so you aren't inconveniencing him in any way by laying in it. He can sleep across from you on the other side, and will sleep still as a statue if you're there.

-Has little to no concept of gender as a whole. He has no biological gender and can be whatever he wants as he feels fit. Accepts any and all pronouns. As such, he doesn't assign gender stereotypes to ANYTHING (clothes, people, objects of any kind) and doesn't understand most human created gender related norms.

-Will frequently call people Darling. If he likes you, will sometimes call you Dear. I.e. "Lance, darling, why are you always like this? Just SMILE!" and "Look at that smile, dear girl! Positively RADIANT!"

-For the LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE LOVE HIM. There is NEVER such a thing as too much affection as far as Balan is concerned. He will PINE for it. Hug him, lean on him, ask him to hold your hand or carry you around. Something, anything! He WANTS as much attention as possible and will come at you like he's more touch starved than Lance. He has ZERO concept of personal space. He will toss you in the air (he will also always catch you, calm down), hold your face, pat you on the head, flat out glomp you, the whole shebang. Unless you clearly state otherwise, he will be all over you ALL THE TIME.

-Rarely if ever gets TRULY upset, and if he does the cracks will start to show. He will pace and rapidly teleport when stressed out, and will sometimes summon doubles without realizing. The doubles can't talk, and mainly just act as stand-ins in shows.

-Always puts the visitors first and will cancel a show if he feels someone is in danger, emotional distress, etc.

-His eyes glow in the dark, and the pupils get narrower instead of smaller (kinda like a cat). His dreads are also prehensile (they can be moved at will) and he has a set of four back tendrils like Lance. He never shows them unless absolutely neccessary or for intimidation. They're curled up like little nubbins on his back, under his clothes. They're extremely sensitive and are actually feelers that let him read the energy in a room so he can react accordingly.

-He DOES have casual clothes, usually semiformal (button up shirts, suit vests, etc.) and will pull his dreads back out of his face when his hat is off.

-He enjoys witty banter, and will have a "banter battle" with anyone willing, Lance unwillingly included. Annoying Lance is actually one of his favorite pasttimes. He's kinda a lil shit sometimes.

-Is literally millenia old and has been hanging around doing this showbiz thing for ages, just in different ways. Picked up the theater thing when it was immensely popular around Shakespeare's time. He's actually older than Lance, and despite his largely immature attitude, he's actually more emotionally stable.

☆Lance☆

-Angsty lil cinnamon bun.

-Absolutely starved for affection of any kind (Balan doesn't count), and very lonely. Will immediately doubt you/deny/contradict you if you compliment them. Will squirm and make desperation "THEY'RE TOUCHING ME. WHAT DO I DO? I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. BALAN HALP." noises if you show them physical affection. Will also blush profousely.

-Plays the villain role in all the shows, and as a result almost no one likes or acknowledges them. As a whole they tend to be antisocial with very clear touch boundaries (Balan does NOT CARE). Very quiet and serious, and only speaks when absolutely necessary.

-Will NOT sugarcoat things (unless they like you, then expect sugarcoating of unimportant/trivial things). Less than stellar at the whole "emotional comfort" thing. If they like you, will hold you if you ask (especially if you're visibly upset).

-Feeds on negative emotions, meaning they have a more constant energy supply than Balan (though Balan is physically and power-wise stronger). Tends to be emotionally unstable and will get easily fed up/throw a small tantrum when they've had enough. Generally low energy and sleeps/naps often.

-Strictly They/Them pronouns. Also lacks a biological gender like Balan and can be anything they feel like being. Understands human created gender stereotypes and social norms.

-Prefers more feminine clothing. You're more likely to see casual clothes with Lance. They rarely care about other people's opinions on the matter. They prefer comfy, truly casual clothing made of soft cloth. Will always be wearing heels of some kind, though, and usually a scarf. Hair will be pulled back, typically in a messy bun or something similar.

-Does all the repairs and maintinence for the theater, including costume repair (especially if Balan's costume needs it, he will weep LOUDLY until Lance fixes the issue). Not uncommon to see them with their head in a ceiling fixing wiring, etc.

-Will absolutely melt if you stroke/run your fingers through their hair. They find it soothing, and if you pull them to you they'll fall asleep on your lap, against your shoulder, etc.

-Back tendrils are PAINFULLY sensitive, please don't touch without permission.

-Is a terrible cook in all things except desserts and sweets. They excell at all sugary treat making. Also an excellent bartender with a wide knowledge of cocktails.

-Absolute lightweight. Will get drunk off two shots, and is a weepy drunk. Tends to steer clear of drinking alcohol as a result. Enjoys Shirley Temple drinks, and can tie cherry stems into shapes with their tongue. Will cut you off if they think you've had enough booze.

-Impeccable and neat room filled with crystals, candles, incense, and lots of glow in the dark things. Their room has a purple and dark theme with small gold accents and is in general a small room with one window on the left side. Modestly sized canopy bed with plain bedding. Expect to never see this room unless they really adore you. They will know if you've so much as touched the doorknob and they WILL show up immediately to shoo you away.

-Tends to phase through the floor in a puddle of shadows, especially when trying to avoid a conversation. Will flail desperately if Balan pulls them back with his vaudeville hook.

-Lance is a light sleeper and any small sound will usually wake them up. Balan leaves them constantly sleep deprived. Sleeps curled up in a ball with their face snuggled into the comforter.

-If they find you asleep in the theater, they won't move you, but you're likely to wake up with pillows under your head and hips and a blanket tucked over you. They will also fall asleep anywhere and everywhere so if you're drowsy they'll steer you to the best napping spots (the daybed in the library is one of their favorites).

-Will throw stuff at Balan, watch your head.

-Has two sets of upper fangs, one right after the other and the second set is smaller than the first set, and one set of bottom fangs. Will rarely if ever smile, and is hesitant to be happy around you if they like you. NO ONE likes them, and if YOU like them you're the only one so they don't want to scare you off.

-They are remarkably gentle (despite being constantly cast as the villain), and tend to move more gracefully than Balan. Excellent at the Waltz and Tango, though they don't dance often.

-Eyes ALSO glow in the dark, and the pupils are slitted like a cat. They get huge and round if something catches Lance's attention.

#balan wonderworld #headcanon #balan headcanons

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sanstropfremir · 4 years ago

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kingdom episode 3 baby!!!!

listen. i’m not gonna lie i was nervous as hell for this episode. i saw that preview like everyone else and unfortunately i have ears so i was convinced the ateez stage was going to be a trainwreck. i was absolutely banking on sf9 and skz to do something even mildy interesting to save me from the ear damage and having to talk to extensively about why that disaster happened. but somehow i woke up in an alternate universe and you know what? with the exception of that high note the ateez stage fucked. i know. i don’t believe it either. i think i’m still in shock.

i’ll do individual breakdowns in order of favourites within the episode and then at the end i’ll put my personal ranking of all six. thank god i don’t have to do a stage breakdown again; if they change it again for next week i will scream.

ateez

a miracle happened. i don’t have to fight any of the staff at kq. i don’t understand either. jongho is so fucking lucky that the rest of the group pulled all that energy out of their asses because if they had been even a single iota less serious about it that stage would have flopped worse than a dead fish. i can’t believe we got this level of camp b movie schlock in the first full stage, and they stuck the landing. incredible.

fine i’ll address the elephant in the room. personally, i don’t think jongho is that good of a vocalist. he’s not bad, and he does have the potential to be a good vocalist, he just doesn’t have the training, and this is the issue with all of ateez. hanya talked about this before and i’ll say it again: he can’t switch to his head voice and he’s destroying his vocal cords by attempting to hit notes in his mid range that he should just jump to head voice for. frankly i’m surprised he got anywhere close to that note in his mid, but his technique is just not there and he’s gonna do some real damage to his voice if he doesn’t take a break and also get a good vocal coach. you can already hear the degradation in sound from their debut stage to now, and that’s in less than three years. ok i’m done talking about vocals that’s hanya’s turf, i’m pretending that that high note doesn’t exist and we’re moving on. also im in love with btob’s reaction it was fucking priceless.

costume

look, i have a one track brain and that brain can only think about seonghwa corset. seonghwa corset? seonghwa corset.

i know it’s not a real corset nor is it properly laced and i know this would never happen in a million years but a kpop mr pearl trend? i would die. just fully expire. there’s no coming back from that for me

yes i have laced boys into proper corsets before and yes it is as hot as you think it is (when it’s not work related, obviously)

ok now that i’ve got that out of my system for the moment, the costumes are actually pretty good. i’m a little obsessed with hongjoong’s coat although I know it’s stupid. fur? always, I love it, you’ll never change my mind it makes everything better. i own a lot of it and i wear it all the time. this is also a pretty good example of how to do a more modern styling within a very specific and recognizable genre.

i don’t hate the backup dancers’ costumes either, even though they would look a lot better in a not-pirate themed hiphop stage. because there is already a modern tint with the boys’ costumes, it’s not that much of a leap to the dancers, and they actually use the dancers and the camera really strategically to not put much focus on them.

the only real standout issue is the blacklight/contortionist moment, which is too gimmicky for me and doesn’t fit the rest of the theme. i do understand the purpose of them: you need a transition point from the upper deck to the more fantastical inner ship area, and blacklight paint is a really easy, cheap, and fast way to get four new costumes instantly. do i think they could have done something better though? yes.

set

this was actually a smart reuse of that pirate ship set. i know i clowned on them in the first stage that they could move on from the pirate gimmick but honestly? i’m glad they didn’t. this was fun as fuck. but also two stages was enough you can move on now.

i love how they actually used the weird double stage function that the false prosc creates for an actual architectural and narrative effect, instead of just sort of operating as though it’s just another place to travel just because you can. we are on the deck of the ship, and then we go inside the ship. it’s simple and effective. you don’t need to do a crazy amount of crossover to establish a dynamic sense of place.

i hate the ateez kingdom logo. i hate the ateez logo in general. get it out of there, at least you could have made something more fun and pirate themed.

would have loved to have seen them return to the hourglass at the end, especially if they got one that was specifically set for 4 minutes. would have been a nice bit of symmetry but i suspect it was struck before the kraken bit.

the kraken bit??? i was not at all expecting that and honestly? dope as hell. that big tentacle is just a custom inflatable santa claus that you see around christmastime and what a brilliant use of such a simple mechanic, especially to have it come through that weird little triangle arch they have upstage. smart way to use the existing architecture.

yes it is a gimmick but here’s why it works rather than just looks tacky like every other gimmick we’ve seen so far: it had a function within the narrative. this is so important. show us there’s a reason it’s there!

lighting

i didn’t love it but they did actually make some smart choices. the outer deck is warmer toned and has some good atmospheric effects, and the inner deck is cold tone and specifically lit with pin lights to imitate the light coming through portholes in an actual ship, which is so smart thank you lighting designer

also a very clear arc with the lighting, blue -> orange -> blue/red -> orange/multiple -> blue

sound

i actually kinda liked this remix? it fit theme and had a very clear dramatic arc. also i like wonderland, so sue me.

staging

WE DID IT, WE FINALLY GOT A CLEAR NARRATIVE FROM AT LEAST ONE GROUP! wonderland was actually a great choice for them because it’s a really good indicator of exactly how hungry they are. i was a bit worried that it would fall flat because it kinda rides on mingi but they actually pulled it off. i have literally no idea where they pulled all that energy from but holy shit you can practically lick the attitude off the screen. i’m also very impressed by the amount of information they managed to fit into that four minute narrative. we had a full conflict/climax/resolution, as well as a really clear understanding of the tenacity and drive of the group, as well as the desire to support one another in achieving their goals. bravo.

ok so like i said in the set section, they used that pirate ship bridge really effectively to create two different but connected spaces. this is a really smart way to make it seem like you have two spaces while having to only build one set. it was also one of the best ways to utilize this dumbass stage so it doesn’t just look like you’re running arbitrarily from area to area because you can.

also levels! levels are so important for staging but also hard to do in this context because you have to be able to move really quickly in and out of full group formation, but I think they did a really good job here.

continued point: the kraken arm worked because it was the conflict they needed to overcome in the narrative, so it had a function within the performance. also related: all the tricking and jumping also served a purpose within the narrative too. it was either used for fighting (yeosang kicking all those dancers on beat) or a demonstration of teamwork (jongho flinging yunho around on the floor). also frankly excellent use of choreographic formation with the backup dancers, each formation had a specific function and was meant to highlight ateez without being overbearing.

not a whole lot of camera choreo, but a fairly good long take at the beginning and the editing wasn’t too obnoxious which I think was more chance than intent, but i’m not gonna look a gift kraken in the beak.

sf9

i actually really liked this stage, and i really like that sf9 has established their colour as effortlessly elegant, which does set them apart from the rest of the groups. this stage was really choreographically complex and they made it seem so easy, so real props to them. however, like with ikon’s stage, there were a lot of good ideas that just weren’t followed through enough for me.

like ateez, song choice and theme were very well intertwined with this one, there was a lot of thought put into this stage. the pun with ‘jealous’ and ‘jilleosseo’ and having a fairytale/magic mirror narrative? fuckin GALAXY BRAINED. incredible. the implication that not only taeyang but the entire group is the evil queen from snow white? chef’s kiss. should have committed harder and put one of them in massive cloak à la king taemin mama 2020. instead it was subtle enough to not try to step on ateez’s schlocky camp toes but still just as serious and i love that. do i wish they pushed it farther though? also yes.

costume

not gonna lie, i had my reservations on the costumes when we saw the previews of them in the waiting room, but the thing about stage costumes is that they always look bad when not on stage. if they look good in the waiting room you’ve done something wrong. and i loved them on stage. big fan of that quilted vest/pseudo stomacher. please can we have a corset trend? y’all already adopted bondage harnesses, c’mon a little corset won’t hurt. also a good example of a modern spin on a recognizable genre.

i wish the backup dancers weren’t in all black but i am fighting single person battle against the entire entertainment industry on that one.

set

extremely simple with a few smart utilizations. had a feeling this might have been a budget thing, as it had a similar kind of vibe with ikon’s stage, but the use of the mirrors was smart and a fun device that served the purpose of the narrative.

working with mirrors on stage is really fucking hard, so kudos to them for giving it a go. for the most part it was pretty effective. especially with the combo of moving mirrors and moving lights AND moving camera, you’re kind of asking to either blind your audience or at least give them a headache. i once saw a production of the magic flute that had a rotating mirror setpiece and i swear i nearly went blind due to the constantly flashing reflections. you have to really be careful with directionality and reflection, especially with the added element of a camera. also you never use real glass mirrors on stage, it is unbelievably bad luck and theatre people are the most superstitious demographic on the fucking planet.

i kinda loved the draped gold dais. i have nothing else to say about it other than fun!

lighting

a lot of this was very weirdly lit and i’m not sure why. the quality on youtube is terrible and cameras already have trouble picking up detail in low light, and throwing a whole bunch of primary red over that (the colour with the longest wavelength and therefore disappears the easiest in the dark. also human eyes are not very good at distinguishing variations in the red spectrum) and the red costumes made it extremely difficult to tell what was happening.

i will give them props for dramatic lighting usage, especially for the two way mirror trick and for using the floor as a primary lighting source at the end, which i think groups should be using more of. how often do you have a lighting source in your floor!!! almost never!! use that opportunity!!

sound

i actually enjoyed this remix too. it was well suited to the dramatic nature of the stage. i think the sound byte at the beginning is ‘mirror mirror on the wall who’s the worthiest of them all’ but it also could be ‘who’s the worst of them all’ and that would be also fitting and kinda funny.

staging

again, not a lot of consideration for camera choreo in a meaningful way, and like the tbz stage I think the clarity in the actual choreo got hampered by the editing. because there was a lot of choreographic precision that went into making this work and it wasn’t totally obvious from the way mnet edited it.

a lot of them are actors so it works that they’re leaning more towards dramatic stages rather than the sort of performance type stages we’ve seen so far. i like this choice for them as it gives them a very obvious colour but they’re almost on the verge of making it look too easy, which does them some injustice.

next to ateez, using that long uninterrupted traverse was my favourite use of this stage. doubles as an easy way to build the atmosphere of a palace corridor/throne room with the rug, and to feed the drama of the piece.

skz

ok i have some…..things to say about this stage. so far i have not been kind to skz which makes me look like i hate them and i don’t, i promise. there were a lot of really interesting things happening in this stage and there some really successful ones, and i liked this a whole lot better than their intro stage, but their overall choreo and thematic dedication is really killing me. i’ll explain.

costume

I don’t hate them but also…….why? I got the good self vs evil self/internal struggle theme but the costumes don’t really have anything interesting to say about that. as far as modern style costuming goes i think they’re on the more interesting end, but they don’t push it far enough. there’s a few western art history visual motifs and honestly? they should have gone whole hog and whited out their faces/hair and made them look like classical sculptures. that would have been hella fun, especially with that little statue and marionette sequence, plus the shadow/leash manipulation.

this time it was actually intentional that the backup dancers were in blacks and i appreciate that.

why on EARTH did they have that ridiculous makeup that didn’t read on stage? theatre makeup and tv makeup are different, you can’t just do a light purple eyeshadow and expect to read under blue and red light. someone needs to bring an actual theatre makeup artist in and get these boys in some real crazy looks. see previous point about full-face white pancake. more extreme makeup please and thank you!

set

i liked the use of internal architecture within this massive weird stage space and they used the corridors quite well. i didn’t really like the mix of baroque scrolling and also graffiti, it wasn’t quite connected for me. this has been a common theme among this round and i think it comes from budget/props pulls rather than anything else.

also there was a distinct feeling of trying to fill the main stage space with bodies as opposed to atmosphere. this can work in some specific cases but the intent wasn’t strong enough for me. it just felt like a lot of people on stage, especially in the end choreo.

lighting

the general lighting was fine but not particularly inspired. the low light in the beginning was actually quite well done, especially combined with the fog, but in my opinion was not dramatic enough. you have a pseudo art history theme happening, pump that contrast and push the chiaroscuro!

ok stay with me, i’m gonna say something extremely controversial that might actually get me cancelled. s*per j*unior’s burn the floor did everything this stage was trying to do on a smaller scale and better. look i know ok, this is a like, a double atom bomb hot take. just forget everything you know about them and watch the performance video. tell me that’s not some of the most interesting choreo you’ve seen in kpop. if you’re going to work with practical light you need to COMMIT. not just steal the solar lanterns out of my mom’s back garden.

i have a lot of opinions on using practical light and alternate light sources in performance because it’s a huge part of my practice and this just....wasn’t interesting enough for me. push it further!

(I will wait for the subs on the full episode because there has to be a reason they chose that specific shape of lamp. if not i gotta ask jyp why he’s raiding my mom’s garden)

sound

god’s menu has such specific imagery associated within the lyrics and choreography that this stage was a bit dissonant for me. especially when seen in conjunction with two stages where the narrative was tied explicitly to the lyrics of the songs. i think maybe if it hadn’t been grouped with these other two stages i would have felt differently. the other groups chose to do songs were a little more abstract and allowed for more visual experimentation, but to go so blatantly against the food metaphor didn’t really work for me and i had a tough time divorcing the association. I found the arrangement to be a little lacking in energy for me towards the end but otherwise it was pretty interesting.

staging

Definitely a better performance overall that the intro stage. almost all of the gimmicks this time had relevance to the theme which i appreciated. the marionette bit and the shadow/mirror were probably the most interesting but i wish they were better lit.

there was a lot of back and forth in the blocking that made the stage feel repetitive and also aimless? like there wasn’t a very clearly established directionality within the internal space, so it felt like treading over the same ground for no purposeful reason. and again, not a lot of intentional camerawork.

i really liked having the dancers under the big sheet, it fit well enough within the ‘war between internal selves’ theme, but also had a loose tie to the art imagery. again, i really wish they had stuck to a clearer visual theme. it makes them stick out especially in this grouping of stages, but also across all the groups as whole because almost everyone had a clear(ish) visual idea.

holy shit that’s a lot of backup dancers. i don’t really feel like that many were necessary and the sheer number of them took away from the emphasis of the group. with all of the other stages (except for tbz) it was very clear who the centre of attention and emphasis was, and with both skz and tbz they got swallowed by the sheer scale they were trying to operate at. bigger is not always better.

---

this is a tough round to rank because none of these stages are bad, there’s just some that are, in my opinion, more successful than others. all of these stages do very well in specific elements but fall short in others which also makes this ranking difficult. i’m evaluating these based on whether they were successful to me, as i’m pretty sure this ranking will probably not all be popular opinion, but whatever i like to live on the edge.

btob – visuals, vocals, narrative, swords? what more do you want me to say? also i watched the full episode and minhyuk did rehearsal with a real bokken and i think i am in love with him now.

ateez – honestly not sure if i would have ranked this first if that high note hadn’t been a mess. i love camp nonsense and i genuinely think this was a well designed stage. i can’t believe i keep saying that but it’s true.

sf9 – this stage was really solid, just could have been pushed farther. i think it has a really good sense of drama and it’s a pity that sf9’s colour is more subdued, because i think they’re going to be stuck around the 3rd/4th position for the rest of the show.

ikon – ikon is only ranking this high because although i am disappointed in the wasted potential of this stage, they NAILED the camerawork and actually brought in someone to block the steadicam into the choreo. also they’re incredible performers. i say this every time, but their stage presence, although maybe lower energy that they normally would be, is still not to be fucked with.

skz – i think this one is the most ‘meh’ for me. while i liked a lot of the elements here they just didn’t push it far enough and the lack of narrative and general aimless choreo led to me not having any strong feelings yea or nay.

tbz – to be quite honest the lack of costume unity is a big hit for me. all elements of design are equally as important but because of my personal practice and experience i tend to put a lot of weight on good costume and spatial design. i don’t actually like game of thrones also, so I feel mildly offended on behalf of michele clapton, who had did a fucking incredible job and doesn’t deserve to be slandered like this. also the lack of cohesive choreography and the overblown lighting made this difficult to watch, no matter how good i thought the rear projection/stretch fabric dance was.

any questions or opinions you wanna share hit me up! see you next week!

#im ready for the angry asks about that s*ju opinion because that is a spicy one #kingdom #kingdom review #kpop analysis #im so surprised by these stages i cant believe ateez stuck the landing #i saw the preview for next week also and the new round looks wild so im ready #text

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pangtasias-atelier · 4 years ago

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A Reborn World’s Anomaly

Well, my first fic after a long ass break is for a character that literally no one knows. So blame @mimisgarbage for sharing my love in this dumb whore. Also, I can never just write about fat Yuma, gotta mention the fucked up ending cause I am still emotionally scarred and hurting from that shit

“Those idiots really did it,” Nagamimi glances down at her newfound arms. Her entire body newfound, she barely marvels in her appearance. No longer in the form of a stitched doll somewhat resemblant of a rabbit, her form is now that of a person. Her black attire the same as ever, the sleeves of her rich black outfit engulfs the entire length of her arm, barely stopping at her wrists. Attached to both sleeves is a single white ruffle that nearly engulfes her hands much like her arms. The rest of the outfit is a short skirt that is much less concealing. Ending a tad bit above midway above her knees, the extra ruffling added at the bottom gives a bit more fabric to cover her up alongside her black leggings and black pumps. A rich lilac vest sits atop her outfit with a darker purple cravat right above said vest. Her dragging bunny ears are replaced with blonde hair, two flowing braids of hair parting it down the back with one being far longer so as to reach down to her knees.

“Nagamimi!” A shrill shout sounds as Mio runs towards Nagamimi. Not quite sure as to how she knows Nagamimi or where she even came from, the innate trust she has in her and Unit 13 has in her eases Mio’s already minimal concerns. Mio no longer as sickly frail, she runs with reckless abandon despite her black boots, her long yellow-green hair flows behind her freely. Her short white top rustles from the movement but her black shorts thankfully covers her up. Unwilling to fully stop, she nearly rams into Nagamimi through forcefully grabbing her arm with glee. ‘What are you doing out here?”

“What’d I say about grabbing me like that?” Nagamimi raises her voice yet she makes no effort in putting up the slightest amount of resistance. “I was just saying an extra goodbye is all,” Nagamimi’s eyes never once taken off from the horizon she stares at the increasingly diminishing figure.

“They already said goodbye. The rest of Unit 13 is still celebrating! And Julietta but he celebrates for everything,” Mio tugs at Nagamimi’s arm.

“Yeah,” Nagamimi continues to stare; the tension in her jaws remain. Her mind races. The thoughts jumbled, sudden, instantaneous moments churn throughout her conscious. Flashes of the world destroyed. Flashes of everyone but a select few killed, those near the stage of a dragon spared. Flashes of Unit 13 destroying VFD and with it, a world free of dragons. And yet, Unit 13’s leader’s sudden call had raised questions. Questions only for Nagamimi as the rest of Unit 13 had been purposefully left out of the loop by their leader. With the near teary state their leader had been from such an unexpected call, Nagamimi had no choice to leave it alone. With only her and Unit 13 knowing the truth of their remade world, there simply had been no opportunity to speak about the contradiction of Yuma existing. A man-made human created for the sole purpose of destroying dragons only to instead willingly turn himself into one, his entire existence is contradictory.

And yet, Unit 13’s leader was willingly overlooking such a strange anomaly. Yuma slain by their own hands, Yuma had refused to back down despite the two’s relationship. The deep burning shame and regret haunting them afterwards, the image of Yuma dying in their arms from the wounds they themself inflicted, properly analyzing the situation was simply out of the question for them.

“What’s wrong?” Mio staring at Nagamimi’s face, she glances between her face and the place where Unit 13’s leader once was, their entire silhouette now gone.

Nagamimi deeply sighs. Her entire frame puffing up with air only to expel it still feels too insufficient of a sigh. “I just don’t want to go back to where everyone is. They’re so loud,” Grumbling herself so as to sell the lie, she immediately gives herself away with her smirk.

“You’re a terrible liar!” Mio pouts as she drags Nagamimi back inside.

“I hope everything works out for those two this time,” She earnestly wishes under her breath before she follows Mio’s efforts to get her to rejoin the festivities.

Stepping off the usually packed trains of Tokyo, Unit 13’s leader deftly weaves through the hustle and bustle of packed foot traffic. This new world exactly the same – minus the disappearance of dragons – as their old, destroyed world, the address Yuma had given them is easy to get to. A quick search revealing apartment complexes, Yuma no longer living at ISDF with dragons ceasing to exist, he had eagerly expressed wishing to see them. The shock of Yuma somehow being alive still refuses to wear off, so they hurry through the crowd despite the angry complaints tossed their way from their rushed state.

Eventually reaching the address Yuma sent them, their prepared mental state or rushing up a litany of stairs is still high on adrenaline even when they find Yuma’s apartment to be on the ground floor. Fishing their phone out of their pocket, they double and triple check the address before placing it back. They clear their throat. Their fist shaking, their lungs refuse to cooperate with them as they hold their breath back upon knocking twice. The instant a second passes without a response, their chest seems to well up with water as the sudden inability to breath sinks in.

“It’s open!” A shout responding to their dread and panic, the prickly moist tears that threatened to protrude begin to recede. They almost slam the door open upon their rushed entrance. “I’m in the kitchen,” The soft yet smug tantalizing voice of Yuma’s penetrates their ears and sinks into their very flesh. Their legs continue on moving towards the captivating voice. They stop upon the sight that awaits them.

The kitchen in a somewhat state of disarray, Yuma is at the epicenter of it all. His engorged figure makes it hard for him not to be, Yuma’s hefty body taking up a large swath of the kitchen area. Surrounded by cats, Yuma’s obese body seems even somewhat laughable with the tiny pets clinging to him.

No longer possessing the fit musculature for a body designed with the singular intent of killing, Yuma’s figure is instead comparable with a body designed solely to eat. Where once there was a defined outline of abs shown only in more personal, intimate moments from their dates, Yuma’s heaping gut lurches forward into a massive overhang. Tucked in neatly and safely behind the comfort of his turtleneck, the fabric surprisingly doesn’t fight back its owner’s corpulent body; instead, it conforms to Yuma’s soft curves making up the doughy mass of his gut. His overhang reaching down a bit above his knees, the end up Yuma’s gut ends in a notably defined bell shape, the curve of his stomach curving ever so slightly inwards below his navel. His stomach mercilessly pulled down by gravity due to its sheer weight, the mass of lard rests comfortably on his thighs. The inner rivulets of fat making up his thighs are hidden behind his tank of a gut. However, the sides of his thighs jut out from so much fat crammed into his figure. The edges of his thighs peeking out from behind his gut offer a sense of their own immense girth, the inner mystery of his thighs filled in by the width of his overhang. Each thigh wider than a person, and with extra width to spare for a second, the two tree trunk thighs fill the fabric of Yuma’s pants. His pants perfectly tailored to fit him just like his turtleneck, the legs of them taper to fit his body, the entire canvas of sagging puffed out fat making up his legs visible. Rolls marcating the edges of where his ass and legs meet, Yuma’s ass juts out behind him, a slight fall to them as well from its own weight like Yuma’s stomach. A cat clings onto the fabric of his pants; its nails digging into the thick fabric as it hangs off the side of Yuma’s thigh.

Yuma’s legs slowly shift in clear, deliberate motions. Moving obviously a challenge with so much girth in the way, his pendulous gut sways from the movement. It slaps against his thighs. Turning to face towards Unit 13’s leader, he lets out a sigh – half from spotting his partner and half from exhaustion. “You’re finally here,” His face is puffed out from the extra bits of flab piled onto his cheeks and chin. No longer so angular, it’s instead rounded out to give a more soft and welcoming aura, The apron attached to him offers an even more welcoming aura, the width of it only covering half the width of his expansive gut. Even his breasts splay out the sides of the apron. Both heavy tits rest comfortably on the shelf of his gut, each sploying out somewhat to the sides. The apron lacking a knot, it instead has a collar to fit around his doughy neck. Two cats vye for Yuma’s attention, one on each soft shoulder. Yuma’s doughy looking arms rest comfortably on his plump love handles. Too much effort to hold up the two burdened arms despite each only holding a bowl of cat food, his fat bunches together.

“Yeah,” Unit 13’s leader is at a shock – partly from Yuma’s mere existence yet mostly from his newfound weight. “I made it,” Releasing a radiant smile as the edges of their lips upturn, their feet glide along the floor as they step forward with zero hesitation. Their fingers gingerly wrap around both bowls in Yuma’s hands. The cats meow at them as they walk back. The cats circling their feet, they take great care in placing the bowls down, yet they do so quickly before the cats can prematurely grab them while still in their hands. The cats content with their food, Unit 13’s leader saunters back to Yone. They press a hand on Yuma’s stomach, their fingers sinking ever so slightly into the warm mass of fat. “Sorry about the wait, big guy,” Immediately accustomed to Yuma’s strange reappearance and even stranger figure, they loop an arm around Yuma’s, the warm pile of pudge encases their arm on all sides.

Yuma lets out a small huff of breath before shaking his head at the nickname; his near shoulder length gray-brown hair swishes from the motion, bits of his green eyes momentarily hidden behind his hair. “I guess I’ll never get you to stop calling me that,” A twinkle in Yuma’s eye, he follows their steps as they slowly lead the way.

“It’s hard to not call you what you are,” They give a couple affectionate pats against Yuma’s wobbling stomach. Leading Yuma out of the kitchen, they make their way past their cats that are preoccupied with eating. “Plus, you seem to get a kick out of it too,”

“Oh, I get a kick?” Yuma counters. His personality much the same, he continues his rebuttal. “I’m not the one insistent on using such a nickname, am I?” His fatigue starting to get to him, he huffs afterwards.

“We’re almost there, big guy,” They ignore his rhetorical question and instead lead Yuma further back into the living room. Yuma merely rolls his eyes with a scoff thrown in for good measure.

Upon reaching the couch, they reluctantly remove themselves from Yuma. A wide permanent indent marking his spot, Yuma gratefully lowers himself down on it with only minimal creaking from the loveseat. His bulk finally resting, his fat bunches up together. His thighs take up nearly the entire expanse of the loveseat. His gut rests on the wide pedestal that is his thighs. “Make yourself comfortable,” Yuma challenges.

Without a pause, Unit 13’s leader sits in the tiny crevice left available between Yuma’s fat and the armrest. However, they lift up Yuma’s gut, the mass of fat barely lifting up despite their best efforts. Shifting around, they place their back on the armrest as they sit on Yuma’s lap. Most of their body smothered under Yuma’s gut, they let go of his stomach with a grin. “Got the best seat in the house. Even comes with a personal heater,” They rub Yuma’s gut with their right hand; their hand goes in slow counter-clockwise motions.

“Glad to be of service,” Yuma suddenly blushes as his stomach growls.

“Now it’s my turn to be of service,” Opening up their phone, they start ordering food without waiting for any input on Yuma’s end. Tapping and scrolling away, they smile as Yuma simply starts searching for something to watch.

Deciding to simply take this newfound world without question, they let out a contented sigh as they place their food order, ready to enjoy their first date with Yuma in this world.

#My writing #ssbhm #maleweightgain #male weight gain #fat!Yuma #fat fiction

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athina-blaine · 4 years ago

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MoMM Update! - What to heck?

Hello, everyone! Unfortunately, Chapter 2 is still under works– the hiatus we mentioned back in our first update post has arrived and MoMM has to take a bit of a backseat for now. I was definitely overzealous in flinging around posting dates the way I did, and I apologize for that; I’d hate to have inflicted any unnecessary disappointment. I promise to practice more reservation in the future!

In the meantime, I’ve decided to go ahead and post the first half of the chapter under this cut– 6k words, 17 pages, I got it all right here for ya. [pats top of post]

Enjoy!

THE MONSTER OF MAGNUS MANOR

CHAPTER 2

THE ESTATE

(Chapter 1 here!)

Martin’s dreams were murky things, cut to the clop of fading hoofbeats and a pair of frightened eyes– eyes that kept locking with his own as the world faded in and out. At some point they’d manifested fully into a man– he was saying something, a string of urgent, unintelligible words that blistered the air around them.

“–tay with me, don’t– no, no, no, no–”

Martin’s vision greyed out before he could make out the rest.

When he resurfaced, he was lying in a … a bed? Was … this the castle infirmary–? No, he didn’t think even Lord Barclay’s mattress was this comfortable. And the rock slab cots lining the servants’ infirmary didn’t have four poster canopies, either …

Strange dream. Everything wobbled, and grew dark again.

And then he was blinking awake. The bed and its canopy were still there, as lavish as they’d been in his dream.

“Are you awake properly, this time?”

The unfamiliar voice had Martin lurching upright. Pain zinged through his skull; he groaned, pressing a hand to one eye.

“I don’t know,” he breathed. “I-I guess so?”

The man sitting beside him let out a slow breath, some of the stiffness unwinding from his posture. “You’ve had a few false starts,” he explained. “Understandable, given your head injury.”

Head injury. The events from earlier came rushing back to him– Martin’s vision was still swimming, but he recognised this man, or the colour of his eyes, at least. They were the same shade of brown as the mysterious figure from the fog. He’d since pulled back the hood of his cloak, revealing dark skin marred with pockmarks on one side of his fine-boned face. His hair had been tied up in a silvering bird’s nest of a bun, and a few thin strands had fallen to brush the shoulders of a richly embroidered vest.

Martin tallied it all up: posh manner, fine clothes, the thin, borderline regal cut of his face. Despite the incongruity of his scars and disheveled hair, the facts pointed to one thing– this had to be the lord of that mysterious estate.

A mysterious estate he was now inside, with an injury that had stars dancing before his eyes. “How–” Martin started, then paused to steady his breathing. “How long was I out?”

“Not long.” The man pulled an ornate pocket watch from his vest pocket, squinting. “It’s about five o’clock.”

“In the afternoon?”

“Does it look like five o’clock in the morning to you?” the man demanded, gesturing to the window. He was right; a weak orange sunset had begun staining the sky, casting dark shadows from the treeline over the estate’s grounds.

“No.” The word had been torn from Martin’s mouth with a burst of horror. He scrambled for the sheets, startling a noise from his host.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

Martin wasn’t listening; the image of Lord Barclay’s cold eyes as he told him, in unequivocal terms, that he was sacked had sent a low, buzzing static through his ears. “I’m sorry, thank you for taking me in, but I need t– I need to–” He had to get back– for his mum, if nothing else. Oh, God, if he lost this job now …

“What you need is to lie back down.” Martin’s bare foot had scarcely touched the floor before the man rose to his feet, thrusting a hand against his chest. “Didn’t you hear what I said? You’ve been concussed.”

Martin was unceremoniously shoved back down. He could’ve fought back– the stranger’s wrists were stick-thin where they stuck out past the sleeves of his tunic, and Martin wasn’t exactly small– but the sudden motion sent a wave of dizziness crashing over him, and Martin couldn’t summon the strength for it.

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear,” the man said, eyes fierce. “In your current state, you’ll collapse before you ever make it out of this forest. Is that what you want?”

The words hung in the air between them. Martin swallowed, shaking his head.

“Then lie down.”

Cowed, Martin sank back into the mattress. Once it was clear he wasn’t struggling, the man relaxed, withdrawing his hand from Martin’s chest.

“Thank you,” he said, sitting back down. Then his shoulders sagged. “I … apologise. I’m sure you have somewhere important to be, and you’ve been hurt as a direct result of my actions. Please believe me when I say this was not my intention.”

A heavy note of guilt rang through his voice, and Martin’s chest panged with instinctive sympathy. “I-it’s fine. It was just an accident.”

If anything, the grim set of his host’s mouth worsened. “I should also warn you– your horse ran off. I tried looking for her after bringing you here, but she doesn’t appear to be in the area.”

Oh God, Phillipa. “… she’s resourceful,” Martin said, but it was much weaker this time. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s found her way back home already.“

The stranger kept his gaze trained on his hands. “ … I– yes, of course. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.” Abruptly, he stood once more. “I assume you’re hungry? Now that you’re awake, I can bring you something to eat.”

Martin jumped. “Oh, uh.” It would have been a full day since he’d last eaten, by now. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep anything down. Based on the strange intensity in the man’s eyes, though, only one correct answer existed. “Y-yes, I– um, thank you. Actually some– some tea would be nice?”

A single, sharp nod was his only response; the man turned on his heel, making a beeline for the door.

Martin held out a hand before he could stop himself. “Wait– wait.”

The man turned, arching one brow, and heat washed over Martin’s face. He hadn’t actually had anything important to say, but they hadn’t even exchanged names.

“Sorry, I just … wanted to thank you. For– for taking me in.” He cleared his throat. “My name is Martin, by the way. Martin Blackwood.”

“A … pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Blackwood.”

Martin flushed. "Oh– just Martin is fine. Um … c-can I ask for your name?”

Silence stretched taffy-thin between them as his host studied him, expression unreadable. Martin’s breath stilled in his lungs– was he being measured up? Found wanting somehow? He’d only asked for a name–

“Jon.”

Martin stiffened, but with a snap of his cloak, the man vanished, closing the door behind him.

Jon.

Martin wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been that. Jon. It was so … common. Approachable, for such an unapproachable man. Perhaps it was a family name.

Musings about Jon’s name could only distract him for so long, however, with his worst case scenario waiting for him back in the real world. Barclay would make him beg if he wanted to continue working in the castle, especially after last night’s disaster.

Martin dropped his head in his hands. He was as good as sacked.

Distraction. He needed a good distraction. Anything to take his mind off agonising– not like he could fix anything confined to a bed by a stranger.

Lifting his head, he took a moment to peer around the room. It was bigger than the servants’ dormitory he shared with the others back at Barclay’s castle. To his right was an old, carved wardrobe; the desk and chair beside it had been made out of smooth mahogany. Paintings, their colours dulled by time, were hanging lopsided on some of the walls– a stark contrast to the faded wallpaper beneath them. Settled over it all was a fine layer of dust; only the chair, and the bed Martin was lying in, had been cleared of it.

Obvious disuse aside, even Lord Barclay’s accommodations weren’t this opulent. An unexpected twinge of guilt shot through Martin’s chest, as if he was doing something wrong. Stealing comfort that didn’t belong to him.

By the time Jon came back, the sunset had shifted from orange to a slow-burning red that dappled the sky. Tucked in the crook of his elbow was an unidentifiable bolt of cloth, and in his hands, a dinner tray. A silver dinner tray. “I apologise for the simplicity of the meal,” Jon said. “It’s … been some time since I’ve had the opportunity to cook.”

Had … was Jon implying that he, the lord of this house, had cooked for Martin? Martin swallowed, tearing his gaze from Jon back to the tray. Why wouldn’t the kitchen staff be making his meals?

Jon didn’t hand him the tray so much as he slid it into Martin’s lap; on it was a bowl of boiled vegetables, and next to that, a steaming cup of tea. Simple, yes, but Martin was grateful nonetheless.

“Thank you, really,” said Martin, entirely too genuine. Under the attentive eyes of his host, he shovelled a spoonful of turnip and carrot into his mouth, and started to chew. He stopped.

Jon leaned forward, poised. “How i– er, that is, I hope it’s to your satisfaction.”

Martin steeled himself and kept chewing, scrambling for a neutral expression. While the outside of the vegetables were soggy, their insides crunched against his molars, sending shudders down his spine. Underboiled, his mind supplied helpfully.

It was, perhaps, one of the worst meals he’d eaten in his life.

“It’s great,” he lied, smiling past the curdling in his stomach. Jon had made this himself, and Martin was going to die before he willingly insulted a lord to his face.

Jon released a quiet breath. “That’s … good.” He unwound the cloth draped over his forearm; it was a nightshirt and cap, made of fabric that could’ve been water for how it piled onto the sheets. “These are for you to wear to bed. You can find something to change into tomorrow in the wardrobe. Please inform me if there are any that don’t fit.” He winced. “And you’ll have to excuse me if you find anything that’s been chewed through. It’s impossible, keeping the moths out this time of year.”

“Tha– thank you?”

“You, ah,” Jon hesitated, before clearing his throat. “Seeing you’re here because of me, you’re welcome to stay until you’ve made a full recovery.” His voice grew guarded. “My only stipulation is that you remain in your rooms at night.”

Martin paused.

It wasn’t that unusual of a request– Martin was a stranger, of course Jon didn’t want him wandering about at night. No, what snagged Martin’s attention was the faint, nervous hitch of his shoulders as he said it.

“O-of course.” Martin’s throat bobbed. “Is it– can I ask why?”

Jon’s eyes narrowed. "I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

Oh, hell. “Sorry, sorry, you’re right. I-it’s just, I don’t know …” kind of strange? But the impatient twist of Jon’s mouth stopped him cold.

The silence dragged, then Jon crossed his arms. “I have a dog.”

“A … dog?”

“Yes. Big, vicious thing. He … patrols the manor at night– and he’s not partial to strangers.”

Oh. Well, that … that made sense, didn’t it? Still odd, though�� Barclay had a whole team of hunting dogs, and none of them were allowed to wander the grounds without supervision. They weren’t pets, and they certainly weren’t guards. It appeared this one was, though.

“What’s his name?” Martin asked, before he could think better of it.

“What?”

“The dog.” Martin held up his hands in apology. “Sorry, it’s just, I love dogs. My neighbors had one when I was a kid. Ol’ Frankie.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed even further. “John.”

“… John.”

“Yes.”

“John … the dog?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“You named the dog after yourself?”

The look Jon shot him was equal parts baffled and incredulous, as if he were ludicrous for asking. “I came into possession of the dog after it received its name. And, besides, it’s John, spelled with an H.”

“I … see.” Martin didn’t see. “Obviously.” It had not been obvious.

Jon glowered, daring him to continue, then reached into his pocket. “One last thing. I noticed … well, here.” With an oddly stiff motion, he held out a small glass jar of salve. “For your hands. It would be irresponsible of me, as your host, to let them ulcerate unchecked.”

Startled, Martin glanced down at his hands– they were still covered in blisters from scrubbing last night’s mountain of dishes. He’d forgotten about them in all the chaos.

“Th-thanks,” he said, accepting the jar.

Clearing his throat, Jon stepped back. “I’ll let you finish your meal. You can expect me tomorrow morning with breakfast.” One hand on the door, he hesitated, then added in a soft undertone, “Get some rest.”

Jon was gone before Martin could answer. He was alone once again.

Unscrewing the lid of the jar, Martin gave the ointment an experimental sniff– honey and almonds. He scooped out a dollop and rubbed it into the damaged skin of his hands, sighing as it cooled the sting of his blisters. Astonishing, that Jon had noticed at all– Martin was so used to it, he would have left them to rot on his own.

He finished his dinner, half out of pragmaticism, half because he didn’t want to risk insulting his host. At least the tea was good.

Tray set aside, Martin began unbuttoning his dress shirt. What an unusual sight he must have made, passed out on the ground in formal wear. The clothes Jon had provided were silky against his skin, marred only by the must of disuse– still a luxury for a person with Martin’s background.

It wasn’t enough to distract him from the cold knot of trepidation that twisted inside his stomach. But Jon had been right; even if he had known the way, he would never make it back in his current state, especially without Phillipa.

At the very least, things couldn’t get much worse. There was solace in that.

Martin settled back against the pillows. With so many thoughts racing through his head, sleep should’ve been impossible– but the moment he closed his eyes, the rest of the world slipped away.

“Here you are!” Martin’s eyes flew open as Charles dropped the tray into his arms. Its contents had been obscured by a covering; Martin couldn’t make heads or tails of what was inside, but whatever it was, it was heavy enough that he buckled under its weight.

Charles winked. “Better you than me, right?”

“R-right.”

“Well, go on then. He’s hungry!”

Pulse pounding in his ears, Martin scurried into the dark hallway. None of the candles had been lit, but he knew the way by heart. His arm shook under the weight of the tray– carrying it with both hands would’ve been easier, but that wasn’t proper. And Lord Barclay was so particular about being proper …

The grand door leading into the dining hall drew closer, and a coil of apprehension burrowed into Martin’s gut. An unusual smell had started emitting from the platter– sweet and gamey, meat mixed with sugar glaze. His feet moved, relentless, and with every step, that sinking pit of dread at the core of him grew heavier.

He opened the door. The dining hall was empty, save for where Barclay sat at the head of the table. A single lit candle shone down on the dozens of empty plates surrounding him. Barclay wiped his mouth with a pristine napkin, and waved Martin forward.

Martin’s hands were trembling. He placed the tray on the table in front of Barclay, in between the scattered, stained plates. At his Lord’s signal, he removed the covering with as much flourish as he could.

It was empty.

The hairs on the back of Martin’s neck stood on end. Run, his instincts screamed. Get away, now!

Barclay looked up at him, green eyes glittering dangerously. “Well?”

Martin started– at some point he’d been lowered into a chair. In ginger increments, he leaned over until his head was resting against the cool metal plate, each shuddering breath fogging its silver coating. Barclay reached for his utensils; Martin squeezed his eyes shut, praying that, for once, Barclay wouldn’t start with–

“Eyes open.”

Swallowing, Martin obediently pried them back open. The fork hovered out-of-focus, brushing his eyelashes.

Somewhere beyond Barclay’s hall, a voice brushed against the edges of his hearing.

“–Hello?”

The fork plunged down–

Martin jolted awake, his hair drenched in sweat. Sunlight was pouring in through the window, illuminating swathes of dust motes floating through each beam. It must have been around mid-morning. Reflexive panic welled in the back of his throat (late, oh God, he was so incredibly late) before the events of yesterday came back to him. The panic slipped away, dulled with leaden resignation.

Sleeping in was nice, at least; when was the last time he’d been this indulgent? Giving in to the mattress’ siren’s call was tempting– he could have slept longer, waited until Jon came to wake him up. But while the dreams’ contents had slipped away faster than he could recall, their weight sat heavy on the back of his tongue. He wasn’t particularly interested in returning.

Taking a chance, he tossed aside his blanket and slid onto his feet. His heart lifted– had he recovered enough to make it back to the castle?

The world spun on its axis, and Martin caught himself against the wooden bed poster before he collapsed.

Ah. As if he could be so lucky.

With one hand against the wall for support, Martin shuffled his way over to the wardrobe. The hinges creaked as he opened it– Lord, everything here needed a good cleaning. He’d have been tanned for letting a room fall into this much disrepair on Griffiths’ watch. Hopefully, the clothes would be in better–

Martin’s mind blanked. The clothes were indeed in better shape, but the options inside were … far more expensive than he was used to wearing. Was Jon not worried about Martin ruining them? Although they must’ve belonged to someone else– these were all too big for Jon. Whoever they belonged to, Martin prayed they wouldn’t mind him wearing their clothes.

He selected the plainest tunic and trousers he could find among the ornate, embroidered lot. None of them had moth holes, at least; Jon would be happy to hear that.

Speaking of his mysterious host …

As soon as he was confident he could walk without falling over, Martin opened the door to the hallway, glancing out into the hall. No dog; that was a good sign. Jon had mentioned bringing breakfast– the smartest idea was for Martin to wait inside his room, but his curiosity was burning. What did the estate of such an eccentric lord look like, anyway?

Surely he could risk a quick look around before Jon arrived.

Martin closed the door behind him with a gentle click, eyes roving over the hallway.

It appeared that the estate of a lord like Jon looked incredibly dusty.

Martin dragged an experimental finger over the surface of a nearby windowpane; it came back smeared with grime. Griffiths would’ve died on the spot– what on earth was Jon’s staff doing? Taking advantage of Jon’s generosity and shirking their responsibilities?

He picked a direction at random and began to walk, keeping one eye peeled for someone who could point him in a useful direction. This section of the manor appeared to have been functionally abandoned, though; perhaps Jon had wanted to ensure Martin’s privacy, although that seemed like an unnecessary effort.

By the time he reached what must have been the grand staircase of a foyer, he still hadn’t encountered another living being. Martin faltered, eyes grazing over the crusted windows, before dipping to linger on an old, broken gramophone at the bottom floor.

Where was everybody?

He continued trailing through the manor, more apprehensive now. Each step brought with it the sense he was a misplaced ghost; alone and drifting, untethered from reality. The layout of the hallways had a labyrinthian element to their design– a wise man would have turned back at risk of becoming lost, but …

It was as if someone had wrapped a string around his joints, tugging his feet forward. Martin couldn’t have turned back even if he’d wanted to.

His footsteps echoed through the empty corridors, crescendoing until they threatened to drive knives into his eardrums. No other noise penetrated the corridors; even the milky light filtering through the manor’s windows couldn’t reach him. The outside world had been choked off, as effectively as it had in the fog.

Panic swelled inside his lungs. Was there really nobody here? In a desperate bid, Martin threw open the first door to his left, hoping someone, anyone, would be on the other side.

Instead, he found the library.

Stumbling backwards, his jaw went slack.

Martin had only seen two libraries in his life: the small, tattered bookshelf in the back of his mother’s church, and Lord Barclay’s personal collection– although the servants couldn’t make any selections for themselves. An entire room full of books, Martin had assumed it was among the largest collections of its kind.

He’d been wrong.

What stood before of him now were two stories worth of wall-to-wall bookshelves, brimming with texts and tomes in exquisite leather bindings. The scent of old parchment tickled Martin’s nose, sending him back to that dusty corner of the church, escaping through tattered parables and hymns.

Entranced, Martin stepped into the enormous room, leaving the door hanging open behind him. Giddy compulsion had him plucking out the first book he laid eyes on. A cookbook; although the language inside was unfamiliar, every page had been filled with mouthwatering illustrations. He selected another book at random: this time, a book of astronomy. And after that, a love story. Martin fought the urge to laugh, breathless. Just how many different books did Jon have?

Tucking all three in the crook of his arm, he continued down the aisle, reverent fingers brushing over each spine as he passed. A vast majority of them had been left untouched; preserved, perhaps, to maintain the appearance of esteem. That was the only reason Barclay ever added to his works. But occasionally, he’d come across a book with frayed pages, its spine threadbare.

Not mishandled, though. None of the pages had been dogeared, or the bindings broken. No, these carried the air of a book well-loved, read so many times over the years they’d been worn down to the glue. Martin took those with him as well, adding them to the growing collection in his arms.

When the first throbs of a sharp ache began pulsing at the back of his head, Martin ignored it. He couldn’t just leave, not with so much begging for his attention. When would he ever come across an opportunity to browse through a collection like this again? No, he had to make the most of it, while he still could.

But as Martin reached the far corner of the library, he slowed. A door was tucked away here, in a corner where no sunlight reached. It was nondescript, out of place in its simplicity– and yet, something about it drew Martin closer. Cool air seeped from between the door’s cracks, beckoning his curiosity.

His fingers grazed the brass handle–

“Don’t touch that.”

Martin yelped, books crashing to the ground.

Jon was standing at the end of the aisle with eyes like chips of ice. Heat bloomed across Martin’s face. This hadn’t been how he’d planned to encounter his host again: caught like a child sneaking sweets from the pantry.

“Sorry,” he stammered, scrambling to scoop up the fallen books. God, he’d dropped them. “I-I wasn’t– I didn’t mean to–”

“How many times do I have to say the word concussed before it sinks in?” With a sigh, Jon bent over to pick up the remaining books, depositing them on a random bookshelf before swiping the rest from Martin’s hands. Martin flinched, and the lines around Jon’s mouth deepened. "You’re in no condition to be wandering, let alone nosing around into places you shouldn’t.”

“I– I wasn’t trying to, to snoop or anything–”

“Really.” Jon shot a cool, pointed glance at the door. The flush crawled down to Martin’s neck, prickling in time with his erratic pulse.

“Sorry,” he said again, lamely. “I really didn’t mean to– I-I was just … curious.”

“Curious. Of course.” With a sigh, Jon dropped the remaining books into another untidy stack, clapping dust off his hands. “I’ll show you back to your rooms– breakfast is waiting for you.”

Jon shouldered his way back out of the aisle, leaving Martin no choice but to follow. He was too embarrassed to protest even if he wanted to, but– his eyes lingered on the stack of books as they passed, mournful. It would have been nice to read at least one.

Jon urged him back into bed as soon as they reached Martin’s rooms, then turned to the breakfast tray he’d left on the desk. Martin fought down the growing dread at what Jon could have possibly prepared for this morning– but when Jon placed the tray on the bed, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Bread, butter, and a bowl of chestnuts. Absolutely no risk of anything overboiled here. And the bread was fresh, too– delicate wisps of steam rose to curl in the dusty air. Had Jon made this himself as well? It had come out better than the first meal, that was certain.

“Thank you,” Martin mumbled, picking up the bread knife to smear butter over a slice.

Jon’s frosty expression didn’t change. "Why in the world did– I can’t imagine what possessed you to roam around this morning. Do you have any idea what I experienced when I found you gone?”

A spasm of guilt tangled in Martin’s gut. “S-sorry. I just … wanted to look around, a little.”

“There’s nothing worth looking at. This place may as well be a mausoleum.”

Martin’s head whipped up. "You can’t mean that.”

A wry silence.

“Seriously? But your– your library is amazing! I’ve honestly never seen anything like it.”

“Th– the library?” Some of the severity in Jon’s expression vanished; he blinked, opening and closing his mouth. “ … Oh. Well, thank you, I suppose. But I’m, ah … I’m not the owner of that collection.” A shy, almost pleased note crept into his voice. “I did help retrieve a few of the rarer tomes, however. ”

Slice of bread halfway to his mouth, Martin paused. “You … but I thought …?”

One arched brow crept toward Jon’s hairline. “You thought … ?”

“I’m sorry, but– aren’t you the lord of this place?”

“No.”

Martin took a moment to process this sudden collapse of his mental image for Jon. “But then who … why are you …?”

For someone so young, Jon had far too much stress lining his face. “It’s … complicated. You could say I inherited this place from its previous owner.”

“Your father?”

“No,” Jon said, blanching. Then, without warning, he pitched forward. “I’ve been wondering if you’ll entertain a question from me.”

Martin jolted, taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation. “Y-yes?”

Jon smoothed a hand over one of his cuffs. “You were dressed too nicely to be working in someplace like a smithy. But your hands … I assume you’re a labourer of some kind?”

“Oh.” Flustered, Martin set down the piece of bread. Why would Jon want to know a mundane thing like that? “I’m, um, I’m a server in Lord Barclay’s estate, actually.”

“Barclay?”

“Yes, Lord Barclay. Lord Frederick Barclay?” Jon was still frowning. “Your Lord. Your Lord, if you live in this region.”

“You really expect me to know the name of every noble that goes parading themselves around these parts like an arsehole?”

“I-I … suppose not?” Martin didn’t understand how Jon couldn’t know, though. What about his taxes? “H-how about you?”

“Pardon?”

“Well, you said the library wasn’t yours, right? And … you said you’re not the lord of the estate, yeah?”

“In a legal sense, no.”

Well that was an interesting answer, but Martin was learning not to ask for elaboration. “So, what do you … do?”

Jon scowled. “I don’t see why it matters.”

“S-sorry.”

“You apologise a great deal, you’re aware of this?”

“S–” Martin bit it back just in time, and Jon blew out a haggard, long-suffering sigh.

“But I suppose it’s only a fair trade. If you really must know, I was – am, I suppose – the Head Archivist of this estate.”

Martin’s brows flew up– Head Archivist? That had to be rather prestigious. Did Barclay have a similar role anywhere present in his staff? The only thing Martin could think of that compared was … “So, like a librarian?”

“Not like a librarian.” But Jon’s mouth twitched. “I suppose there is some overlap. It was more than just filing books and keeping things tidy, though. We were also researchers.”

Martin perked up. “We?”

“… Yes. I … I did have a team working alongside me, previously. We researched unusual encounters, on behalf of our patron.”

“What kind of unusual encounters?” Fascinated, Martin leaned forward. “You mean like, like love affairs?”

“Nothing as salacious as that.” A slight smile broke out across his lips. “Although there– there was one time … ”

He stilled, trailing off. The fragile warmth that had been growing behind his eyes shuttered.

“Although … ?” Martin prompted after a beat.

Jon’s expression could’ve been carved from stone. He said nothing, shoulders hunched under some unseen burden.

A suspicion had been brewing in the back of Martin’s mind since his crawl through the manor’s hallways, and now, with Jon coiled tense as a spring in front of him, it came roaring back full force. Well, if there was ever a time for inquiries … “Can I ask you something?”

Jon huffed, and Martin winced.

“Right. Um. I guess I just wanted to ask–” oh, how to phrase it …? “–is … is there anyone else … here?”

Jon’s eyes lowered to rest on his hands. “No,” he said. “It’s just me. And now you, I suppose.”

And all at once, the pieces fell into place. Jon’s cooking, his nonchalance about the borrowed clothes, the dust that had settled in a thick carpet over everything Martin, or Jon himself, hadn’t touched. For the second time today Martin was left staring, dumbfounded. “… I don’t understand.”

“What’s there to understand?”

“This place is gigantic. Don’t you …” Martin glanced down at his lap, thumbing a loose thread in the duvet. “There’s really no one here?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Jon’s eyes flashed. “I don’t need your pity. Why else would I be here if I didn’t prefer it this way?”

Martin opened his mouth, but Jon stood before he could reply, stormclouds thundering in his eyes. “This has been more than enough excitement for one day– I’ll let you get some rest.”

He’d already made it to the door when Martin regained control of his voice. “Thank you for the ointment.”

Jon stopped, one hand frozen on the door’s handle. “Pardon?”

“The hand cream. It, uh, it helped. Thank you for noticing. And … and I’m sorry for … everything, I guess.”

Jon stared at him for a long moment, then lifted his chin. “Glad I could be of some service.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and Martin counted his footsteps until even their echoes faded down the hall entirely.

It was probably for the best that he followed Jon’s instructions and got some rest. He had the gnawing sense that he was wearing out his welcome, fast.

He’d already nestled back into the mattress when a flash outside his window made him shoot back up.

Snow. Fluttering snowflakes were dancing on an invisible wind just beyond the glass. Martin rubbed his eyes– once, twice– but they were still there.

A trick of the light– it had to be. Some … half-asleep hallucination. He still had a ways to go before he was recovered, after all. Imagine– snow, at this time of year.

Putting it out of his mind, Martin pulled the duvet over him, and, with very little effort, drifted away again.

“–Hello?”

Martin stumbled to a halt, dinner tray in hand. What the hell was he doing? He didn’t have time to stop– there was still so much of the hallway left to go. But …

There. A door had appeared in the hall. Or had it always been there? For the life of him he couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t he remember …?

“You’re going to be late,” Charles said, somewhere off in the distance.

Late. Yes: Barclay’s dinner. He … he needed to leave. He was going to get everybody in trouble–

“–go.”

There it was again. Martin’s legs were stone; unable to move to the door, unable to move down the hallway. They had said go, right? He had to deliver Barclay’s dinner. But …

“You’re going to be late,” Mum said. Her eyes were hazy, unclear. What a wretched son he was; couldn’t even recall the colour of his own mother’s eyes …

“I’m sorry,” he said, but even he couldn’t tell who it was for.

Martin woke with aching arms and gummed eyes. Sunbeams were once again pouring in through his window, and this time, the accompanying disorientation faded faster.

Was it already morning? He must’ve slept right through dinner– this bloody mattress made it too easy.

And for once he was actually hungry. Properly hungry, too, without the accompanying nausea or weakness he’d grown accustomed to during his morning routine at the castle.

Today the silver tray was waiting for him on the desk– Jon had already come through this morning, likely an effort to keep him from waking, or wandering off again.

It was only as Martin was reaching for the tray that he noticed the books. Three of them, stacked on top of each other. Next to them were several pieces of folded parchment.

Martin, the letter started, with graceful, cursive handwriting, and something in Martin’s chest swooped low.

Here are some collections from the library, should you find yourself in need of entertainment. I had some difficulty choosing a recommendation, but I feel that these three have fairly universal appeal. Please take your injury into consideration, but I trust you to do what feels right for yourself.

Kinsey’s Survival on the Front Lines, especially, I find quite compelling. It’s a collection of memoirs from Kinsey’s time in war, and while a few have criticised his writing style as a bit dry, I find the contrast between his straightforwardness against the reality of war is how he’s able to make his point so clearly …

Martin read slowly, eyebrows climbing higher and higher with each word.

The letter was five pages total, front and back. All detailing Jon’s reasoning for the selections he’d made, from their historical relevance, to his opinion on their style of prose. Was there anything in Martin’s life that he could talk about for so long? That he was so passionate about? Maybe his poetry, mediocre as it was, but not with half as much eloquence.

Buried in the text, tucked between hesitant, tentative platitudes, were Jon’s personal reasons for enjoying each book, such as I would often find myself returning to this text during my apprenticeship, and Some might consider Williamson’s humour a bit crude, but I still found it enjoyable.

Martin lingered longest on these, drinking in each tidbit with the avidity of a book-starved scholar.

The letter concluded with,

By now I’ve realised I needn’t have gone on for so long, but I’ve already spent two hours writing this, and it seems a wasted effort if I just tossed it, so … there you are. If you made it this far, anyway. Admirable, if you have.

If the choice between the three books still proves to be too much, I would suggest Sutherland’s Mythos of the Ages as a start. It’s simple, but, as I’ve mentioned, the illustrative work is astounding, and although it’s rather sentimental, I find the tales of some comfort to me.

Jon

Martin traced the elegant swoop of the J, heart ballooning in his chest until he might burst.

Oh.

–

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strivingscribe · 4 years ago

Text

ILIC ~ CH 31

It’s Lost Its Charm by MsMoon

Chapter 31 ~ A Multi-Pronged Attack Plan

Chapters: 31/?

Chapter Navigation: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15,16, 17, 18,19,20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31,

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age,

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Violence,

Relationships: I feel like it’s a little early for that…

Summary: Now that Amy's awake, it's time to hammer out some plans...

Magpie had left Siheta and Bull in the Chantry, sprinting towards Amy's new room. She was relieved to see Tunan and Tunen more presentable than they had been... Not that Tunan was much of a chore in the mornings. He was mostly quiet, needing time to wake up fully before being ready to converse with anyone... Tunen on the other hand. She was a feral cat and needed expert care after waking otherwise you'd get swiped.

“Hey! Good. You're both up. Uh...” she stuttered in place, trying to think of what to say next exactly. “There's a council meeting right now, but if you guys wanted to wait in the tavern—”

“Council meeting?” Tunan asked, his voice conveying a sense of puzzling concern.

“Yes. With Amy being...well, back. Mostly. Everyone's gathering to discuss...things.” she shrugged.

“When are we leaving?” Tunen interrupted.

“What?” Magpie felt as cold as everything in her seeped into a deep dread. Leaving?

“Yes, leaving, as in returning home.” Tunen clarified. Had she asked out loud? She must've.

“I'm... not leaving.” Magpie announced, incredulous.

The twins did that thing that they do from time to time where they exchanged a glance that held layers of communication. Magpie could read Tunen's frustration along with Tunan's (strangely smug?) acceptance. It was endearing because she was able to read it...it was also irritating.

One of Tunan's fingers twitched towards his sister. “Um. Why not?” he asked haltingly. “I mean...”

“We came here to find you.” Tunen follows, her manner abrupt. Clearly, it's still too early for her to stray away from that hissing cat inside of her.

“And I appreciate that.” Magpie said.

“Can I just..” Tunan was now actually holding his hand up towards Tunen, attempting to cage the beast. “Can I ask...why you want to stay?”

Magpie blinked at him. “I mean.. you did. Just now.” His expression fell, as if to say, ‘really? now? you're doing this now?’. If she was being honest, she'd have to admit that she was stalling, because...

Because this was an out. She could leave. But she didn't want to... and now she needed to ask herself why.

“I mean... the Inquisition is in a position to actually fix the problem.” The typical excuse was the easiest to fall back to.

“What problem?” Tunen asked.

“Uhhh! The breach? All the breaches?”

“OK, so...” Tunan stepped in again, apparently taking on the role as mediator. “You think the Inquisition can help, and you want to be a part of that?” he asked, and Magpie at least felt like he was genuinely interested in her response.

She took a deep breath and tried to settle herself. “I think... I think...yeah.”

Great work there. So eloquent.

“Look, I just feel like... I need to be here.”

Tunen had been staring at her in complete befuddlement. Her eyes twitched towards her brother, and she deflated with a sigh at the look of obvious reproach on his face.

“Just... tell me you're not doing this for the shems.” Tunen grumbled.

Magpie felt her back teeth grind. Something about that statement rankled her, but she's fighting to keep that from showing.

“I am in a position to help. And I want to stay for me.”

“What makes you think they'd allow you to do anything worth doing anyway?” Tunen countered. “And even if you did do anything worth doing, what makes you think they’d let you own it?”

“Look, I'm technically working for Amy, here.” Magpie argued, dismissively. “That carries a lot of weight.” And that much was true. Even though Magpie wasn’t really working for Amy, she’d managed to convince others that she was… and when people heard that, they kind of fell in line.

“Yeah, and who's she anyway?” Tunen continued, not at all impressed. “Until I got here and you started talking about her, I had never heard of her.”

"Well, she's a big deal right now to everyone.” Magpie snapped.

She couldn't help but notice that Tunan kept turning between the two of them, a single hand stretched in both directions, though his focus shifted as each of them spoke.

“According to who? And for how long? I swear, these shems just give out shit and then take it away. That’s what they do. What assurances do you have that any progress you've made is safe or will last?”

“Alright.” Tunan's voice was very deep, and he typically kept his tone low. Now was one of those rare times his voice felt as though it boomed simply because he wasn't trying to sound docile anymore. The boom of his unfiltered voice shocked even him. He cleared his throat, and lowered his voice again. “Let's take a breath... and remember that we are all here for each other.” he reminded, as though he were attempting to sooth a pair of caged beasts.

“I... want to stay.” Magpie announced, feeling the truth of that and the weight behind it even if she wasn’t certain the motivations in the statement yet. “This has become important to me, and I feel like I am not done here. I appreciate that you came all this way; and I am sorry that I'm the only one that was here, and I'm not being as cooperative as you'd like.”

“That's not—” Tunen began, but couldn’t really finish her thought.

“But!... It all boils down to me not wanting to leave yet.”

At that Tunan nodded, giving his sister a placating look. His head tilting, his brow peaking in his version of puppy dog eyes. She sighed at that, the fight mostly taken out of her.

Tunen shrugged, reluctantly. “Well... at least it's interesting here.”

Tunan continued nodding as well, seemingly relieved.

“But we aren't going to keep sleeping on the floor, are we?” Tunen pleaded.

Magpie chuckled, shaking her head. “Doubtful.”

“Well, that's a relief.” Tunan murmured, preaching against the wall now that he didn't feel the need to dive between the two of them as a negotiator. “And your Amy is pleasant enough.”

‘for a shem.’ Went unsaid, but Magpie had a feeling that was very much felt. Even if Tunan didn’t voice it as much as Tunen, he had never been overly fond of operating near or with humans.

But that was a discussion for another day.

“Great.” Magpie said. “Good talk. Now...if you'll excuse me. I have a meeting to get to.”

“Oooh. Fancy.” Tunen cooed, her tension seemingly defused now that they’d talked.

With a soft snort Magpie left them, making her way to the council chamber. She was relieved that the map room was enormous (at least in comparison to Josie's office) and that she wasn't the last one here.

Seeing Amy was a bit of a shock. She was between Josephine and Leliana — odd because they usually flanked the table at opposite ends. Cullen was glaring down at the map. Madame de Fer was there as well, near Leliana's usual spot.

Magpie was a little shocked to find Amy in...well...nice clothes. Amy always had to make do with whatever she could find. Seeing her in something fitted was...strange.

She was wearing a very delicate looking white tunic with long sleeves that billowed, but over that was a tightly fitted dark leather vest, very tailored breeches, and knee-high boots. There were various straps and belts, both to keep things in place and to string sheaths onto.... Her hair was mostly down. The braid had been undone, a thick ponytail hanging low on the nape of her neck while errant curls leaked out to frame her face....

She looked good. Even better, she looked…healthy. Not leaning or waning as Magpie had seen after her previous episodes.

Thankfully, Magpie noticed Sehita in the shadows behind Amy. The towering woman caught Magpie's eye and nodded for her to join them. That put a halt on her next internal crisis, as she had no idea where to really put herself. She trotted over, relieved when Amy's eyes lighted on her and she smiled.

Amy reached for her hand once she was in range, the gesture instantly assuaging her tension. The fact that it was easy for Amy to turn away from the others to greet her was…comforting. She could deal with the questions of why she didn't want to go home, and if she had a proper place that would affect any change later. Right now, she was needed and wanted and that counted for something.

“Well damn.” Varric said, entering with Sam right behind him. “Would you look at this.” he said, motioning to Amy.

“Yeah, they can't keep me down, and honestly that's what matters most.” Amy said with a conspirator’s grin and a stubborn gleam in her eyes.

Again, Varric seemed to come up short, blinking rapidly and holding his hands up. “And with complete sentences this time.”

“Every time I go down, I come back with upgrades.” Amy warned. “One day I'll be invulnerable.”

Cullen half scoffed half laughed at that.

“I said 'one day'.” Amy defended.

Sara and Blackwall were the last to show up, and Sara couldn't just show up without making a fuss.

“Ooiii! Lookatchu! All gussied up!” Sara crowed with a leer.

“I mean, I don't know what you've been doing, but I—” Amy reached down, griping, and pushing up her own breasts as though she were situating them properly. “was getting fancy.” It seemed to be the right response, as Sera giggled, and Blackwall looked elsewhere with a grin.

The room filled up soon after. Solas, Cassandra, and Bull finally making their way into the chamber. Even this big room seemed a little crowded.

“So, we have our Charmer back and better than ever.” Varric noticed as a way of kicking off the meeting.

“Indeed.” Leliana confirmed. “And considering that the information she has shared with us has been verified, I believe we are ready to move.” Gazes sharpened as that was dropped in front of them.

Not that Magpie ever had any real doubts about the things that Amy was saying. With everything going on, a human touched enough to predict the future wasn’t that crazy. She’d seen Sam use a glowing hole in his hand to close rifts, after all.

“Verified? Then…?” Cassandra’s questions went unspoken as she couldn’t find the proper words or the paths for those words to take.

“Our two-pronged plan will begin tomorrow.” Cullen stated with the certainty of steel. “Cassandra will disguise herself as a Lieutenant with a regiment under her to reinforce our position on the Storm Coast. Simultaneously, Sam will make his way to initiate contact with the mages at Redcliff. According to Amy, after the initial contact, Sam will be invited back to Redcliff formally. This will give Cassandra and her team time to deal with whatever is going on at Caer Oswin.”

“Our scouts have confirmed that while Caer Oswin is inhabited, there is very little in the way of noticeable traffic.” Lelianna informed. “It should be easy for a regiment and a team to secure the grounds.”

“Considering the time it will take for Sam to initiate the plan with the mages, Cassandra’s team could potentially be finished and on their way to Therinfall before Sam is finished with Redcliff.” Cullen estimated, though whether this is his opinion on the time it would take traveling back and forth between Redcliff, or his high estimations of Cassandra, it was difficult to say.

“It is not the entourage that I had hoped for,” Josephine began. “however, I was able to secure a few prominent Orlesian nobles to accompany our concerned party to Therinfall.”

“Abernache?” Amy cut in to ask.

Josephine eyed her first, eyes drifting to the ever-present paperwork in front of her before saying, “Yes…Lord Abernache is among those who are interested in confronting the Templar order.” She seemed only slightly put off by Amy’s insight.

“A prominent figure?” Madame Vivienne asked, though by her tone one may think she were inquiring about the weather.

Amy shrugged. “No more or less than anyone else. He has his part to play, and that is enough to note his significance. That should be enough on its own.”

Perhaps Amy didn’t see it as she wasn’t really meeting anyone’s eye, but Magpie couldn’t help but notice the slightest arch in Vivienne’s brow. As though Amy had said something she had not anticipated… What that meant, Magpie wasn’t sure, but she did know look of reappraisal when she saw one.

“How far is Caer Oswin from Therinfal as far as traveling time?” Amy asked.

“It would take a well-armed troop of men moving with purpose less than a full day’s travel, given the terrain…and the need for secrecy.” Cullen shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps a few hours more, but not by much.”

“After the hubbub at Redcliff, I intend to take my team and hustle towards Therinfal Redoubt.” Sam announced.

“That might be unsafe…” Amy murmured, concerned. “Mostly because you will have already undergone so much.”

Sam smirked at her. “Ease up, mum. We’re all grown, and we can take care of ourselves.”

Amy’s eyes scrunched up as she glared at him, but it was more for being called ‘mum’ than anything.

“Bull, Solas, and Varric will be accompanying me during my tour of Redcliff.” Sam announced. The three people he had called out nodded their assent. “We’ll have another team waiting in the wings to help Cassandra. Madame Vivienne, Sera, Blackwall, that’ll be you. Don’t imagine any of you will have a problem handling rogue templars.”

“Not at all.” Madame Vivienne replied coolly.

“Cullen will move some troops into the Hinterlands after the initial contact, under the guise of reinforcing the camps we’ve established and surveying the damage that the Mages and Templars have reeked. In truth, he will be in place should anything happen that requires us to take Redcliff from the mages and the magister.”

Sam paused and surveyed Amy. “We don’t have much time, but while this is all happening, at least in the day and a half it’ll take us to travel there, make contact, and return, we would like it if you met with a few tutors that could assist you with your magic.”

Amy gave a single, decisive nod. “I would like to begin that as immediately as I can, actually.”

“I don’t see why not.” Sam murmured with a shrug. Everyone was already on standby as it was. “It shouldn’t be too difficult wrangle everyone together after the noon meal.”

“Tutors?” Solas asked, his eyes darting back and forth. “What tutors are those?”

“Madame Vivienne has brought a magic user with her. One who relies on his music to work his magic.” Lelianna announced.

“Zither??” Amy asked, half laughing already. “Oh, this’ll be a wild ride.”

Again, while Madame Vivienne’s face revealed nothing, Magpie noted her eyes darting to a very smug looking Lelianna. Lelianna hadn’t told Amy anything about anyone named Zither, that much Magpie was certain of… whether or not the mage recognized this wasn’t entirely clear, considering her consummate poker face.

“From what I understand,” Josephine began, flipping through some of the pages on her clipboard. “we have several mages that are more than willing to weigh in their opinions as well. Norton, Baxtien, Elossa, even Siheta will all be present and capable of aiding Amy if their expertise should be needed.”

“Oh good. Always better to perform for a crowd.” Amy half grumbled with a taxed smile.

“If you can perform at all.” Bull grunted with a smirk. Amy flicked her middle finger up at him with a dazzling smile. “Seriously, Charmer, maybe you’ve got everyone else convinced you’re almighty, but I’m still on the fence here. You haven’t really given me anything that’s impressed me.”

It was a bluff, but the tension that spiked through the room at Bull’s words was very real. Everyone held their breath, waiting to see how Amy would handle this.

She smirked. “I can give you eleven reasons.” She said with honey-sweet words, and her grin only depend when Bull’s attention snapped away, obviously trying to pair the number 11 with anything significant to him. He didn’t have 11 chargers… so… She held a finger to her lips as though she were telling a secret. “The first hit’s free.” She used the same finger tracing the secret on her lips to point to the hinterlands. “She’s right here… and she’s so pretty.” She said, leaning over the map almost suggestively, her eyes never leaving Bull’s. “All orange and yellow with such majestic curling horns and livid fire. I know you’d love to take her.” He smile was positively feline.

Bull blinked hard before taking in a deep breath through his nose and letting it out.

“Wait…” Sam’s face went slack. “Are you ….talking about a dragon?”

“A Ferelden Frostback, right under your noses. Weak to cold but resistant to fire damage. She cannot be slowed or disabled, and she’s got a whole mess of drakes to protect her and her dragonlings.” She straightened before looking to Sam with a more serious air. “There’s a pass leading to Redcliff that’s being guarded by bandits that aren’t bandits.” She waved off his look of confusion. “One mystery at a time, Sam. I can explain later. One of your scouts will warn you of this when you try to take the road, that is if they haven’t already.”

“They…haven’t. We’ve been focusing on the people and the cult, and you know, that whole mage/templar fight thing that’s going on.” Sam grumbled.

Amy ignored Sam’s cross tone to continue explaining. “The bandits are set up in a nice little nook. Beyond that nook is a natural stone archway that leads to her lair.” Her eyes bore into Bull. “I wouldn’t advise entering that archway and her lair until you’re completely ready to take on a high dragon.”

“I’m always ready to take on a high dragon.” Bull practically growled; his enthusiasm high.

“Bull.” Sam murmured, attempting to regain control.

“Boss.” He whined.

“Priorities.” Sam reminded. “Take out the bandits, set up a camp there to fall back to if things go south with the mages, take on the mages. Then, once we’ve gotten the mages taken care of…maybe after we’ve sealed the breach, we’ll go after the dragon. It isn’t as if we’ll never be in the Hinterlands again.”

Bull seemed mollified even if slightly petulant.

“There were some names that you mentioned that I’d like to revisit.” Lelianna noted. “Names of some mages that you said Sam should talk to.”

“Yes!” Amy said, snapping right back into the gravity of the situation before them. She righted herself, and her attention was now back on Sam. “Clemence will be the easiest to find. You’ll be asked to meet in the tavern, and he’s there. He’s a tranquil alchemist, but Alexius doesn’t want the tranquil around. So, he’ll volunteer to go with you and join the inquisition.”

“Lucky.”

“Talwyn is at the bar in the tavern. You can speak to him after Clemence. But you should keep these interactions subtle.” She scowled, sounding disgruntled as she continued. “I’m sure Linnea will be watching you, and she could be a problem.”

Taking a deep breath, she continued, “Next is either Lysas or Hanley. Hanley’s a human mage standing near the statue to the hero of Ferelden, and he’ll be very happy to see you. He hates the involvement of the mages with Tevinter. I don’t think it would be hard to convince him to go to the crossroads to wait for you. Lysas is an elf mage who you’ll find against one of the stone archways that lead to the chantry. He voted to abandon the chantry, but the alliance with Tevinter has him shaken. He’s another one that I might be persuaded to leave if promised some protections.”

“Considering that all rouge mage and templar activity has been thoroughly halted, none of them should have a reason to stay.”

“They might not have the choice, considering that they’re Tevinter chattel.” She growled. “I don’t know if they realize it yet, but Alexius will confirm that when you meet him.”

“asshole.” Sera spat.

Amy’s face pulled into a complicated frown. There was disapproval there, but her expression seemed… almost sorrowful as well. It made Magpie wonder if perhaps there wasn’t more to this story…

“We all have our missions.” Cullen said, with what felt like finality. “If there’s nothing more, be ready to move out a dawn.”

Magpie watched as everyone began to filter out of the room, and Amy zoned in on one person… She made a beeline for Solas.

#ILIC #It's Lost Its Charm #Dragon Age #Dragon Age Fan Fiction #DAFF #DAFF It's Lost Its Charm #Amy McManus #Magpie

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thekadster · 4 years ago

Text

seize the date (jatherine first date fluff)

Fandom: Newsies (All Media Types)

Word Count: 2,144

Trigger Warnings: none!

❝Jack Kelly was the fearless, charismatic leader of the Manhattan newsies. His name was respected in all the city, even by Spot Conlon himself. A good fighter, a great newsie, and even a father figure to some of the kids in his care. With that kind of resume, one would assume that there weren't a lot of things that scared him, and they would be right.

But then, there came the girl.

And boy, was he scared.❞

also read it on ao3!

“I can’t do this, Dave.”

Jack groaned and pressed his forehead against the brick wall. Davey, arms crossed and standing next to him, rolled his eyes. “Jack, we’ve gone over this ten times.”

Jack turned to look at him. “It’s been ten already?”

“Well, eleven.”

Jack ran a shaky hand through his hair. He shrugged, straightened his vest, adjusted his hat, dusted off his pants, did every little thing to smoothen out every single one of his rough, ragged edges. He took a deep breath of the cool afternoon breeze. “Do I look okay?” he asked.

“You look fine,” replied Crutchie, patting him on the back.

Jack tensed up. “Fine ain’t gonna cut it.”

“What he means to say,” Davey quickly interjected. “Is that you look ready.”

Jack was quiet. Was he ready, though? I mean, he had to be. He had been prepping for this day for over a month. He had dreamed of this! Of course he was ready!

“I don’t feel like it,” he mumbled, finding his voice.

Davey put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” he reassured. “The fact that you even prepared is more than enough. She’s gonna love it.”

Crutchie hummed in agreement. Jack grumbled and fixed his collar. Looking over Davey’s shoulder, he instantly tensed up. Whispering to his two friends and patting their backs, he quickly sent them away. They crossed the street, briefly smiling and waving at the approaching girl.

Jack Kelly was the fearless, charismatic leader of the Manhattan newsies. His name was respected in all the city, even by Spot Conlon himself. A good fighter, a great newsie, and even a father figure to some of the kids in his care. With that kind of resume, one would assume that there weren't a lot of things that scared him, and they would be right.

But then, there came the girl.

And boy, was he scared.

“Hey!” a chipper voice called. There she was, now taking her last few steps towards him; Katherine Plumber: his latest love, and his latest fear.

“Heya, Kat,” Jack replied, grinning. He held out his arm. “Shall we, Miss Plumber?”

Katherine giggled. “After you, Mister Kelly.”

As much as he was a nervous wreck behind his facade, he was genuinely glad that this day had come. It would just be them and the fire escape, plain and simple. No need to worry about the noise of the world below. What could possibly go wrong?

Not a lot, Jack prayed.

He led her up the rusted metal rails, slowing down to match her pace. As much as her long skirt and boots proved to be a nuisance, Katherine’s heart began to swirl with exhilaration. She had been up this way before, but the feeling of climbing so high up was still an adventure to her. As the ground grew further and further away, the more her heart pumped.

“Well, here she is,” Jack spoke, swinging open a small metal gate. “Welcome to my “penthouse”.”

In reality, the area was rather small, just enough to fit two boys and a sack of belongings in the corner. But as soon as Katherine turned around, she quickly remembered where Jack got the name from. She was met with the sight of hundreds of buildings, probably even thousands, if she counted. She leaned forward on the railing. The last time she was here was under much different circumstances, and it was only now that she got to properly take in the view. All of them looked so proud and tall from the ground. It’s crazy how different things can seem when you put them in a new perspective, she realized.

“We’re so high up,” whispered Katherine.

“Yeah,” replied Jack.

Jack quietly joined her side, looking out into the skyline he knew so well. It was weird, he thought. He had seen this view thousands of times before, it became just another part of living here. But now, the water towers and the buildings and their big signs all seemed to have a new glow in the afternoon sun. But the sun couldn’t do much. Perhaps it was who he was with that made all the difference, and who shined brighter than the sun could ever hope to.

“It’s beautiful,” added Katherine, a smile tugging at her lips.

Jack turned to look at her. “Not as beautiful as you.”

She laughed, feeling heat quickly rush to her face. “Are you afraid of heights?”

“Would I be livin’ up here if I was?”

“Ha! Fair enough.”

“Are you?” asked Jack.

Katherine paused, then leaned closer to him. “Not anymore.”

Jack stayed still, even though his face was already flushed. Awkwardly clearing his throat, he gestured for them to sit down on a neatly laid-out blanket. She gave him an amusing look, but played along. “So,” he began, quickly changing the topic. “How’s work?”

“It’s been okay, just grabbing whatever story I can find,” replied Katherine.

“Anybody givin’ ya trouble?”

She shrugged. “Not really, actually. After I wrote about you and the boys, a lot of people started taking me more seriously.”

“Good,” said Jack. “It’s better than the ballet, ain’t it?”

“Anything’s better than the ballet.”

They laughed. Although they would never say it out loud, if you’d ask them, they would say that the other’s laugh could light up New York.

“How about you? How’s work?” asked Katherine, shifting in her place.

“Same old thing,” answered Jack. “The fellas are doin’ okay. Oh, and this mornin’, Finch hit one a’ the Delanceys in the head with his slingshot.”

She chuckled, eyes widening in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah! Kid ran like hell, I tell ya.”

“Who was it, Oscar or Morris?”

Jack scratched his head. “Morris, I think.”

Katherine smiled to herself, her eyes distant for a brief moment. “You know, I went to kindergarten with them.”

Jack’s mouth gaped. “You know the Delanceys? You went to school with ‘em?”

“Yeah,” she laughed. “They were the biggest troublemakers. There wouldn’t be a day where they wouldn’t be in the time-out corner. Oh, and when both of them got into trouble, the teacher would put them on opposite ends of the room.”

“Sounds about right,” he remarked. As soon as she turned her head, Jack quickly hid the newspaper he was sketching on.

“How’s Crutchie doing, by the way?” she asked.

“He’s doin’ fine. Still smilin’ no matter what, if that’s what you mean. Folks are happy to see him back on the street. ‘S got loyal customers that got worried when he stopped showin’ up. That kid’s a ray a’ sunshine.”

“I’m sure.” Katherine’s heart softened, watching a warm smile creep up on Jack’s face at the thought of his best friend. She looked around. As simple as his humble abode was, she couldn’t help but be charmed. It was like his own little safe haven, a place that the noisy, messy world below could never reach. “When did you start living up here?”

He shrugged. “Probably one, two years ago?”

She nodded. “Why don’t you live in the Lodging House?”

“‘S mostly to give the other kids more room,” replied Jack. “Plus, nothin’ beats the view up here.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Katherine stood up and looked back out into the city.

Jack noticed her long silence and looked up at her, the girl and her wonder-filled eyes, gazing at a city that was at her fingertips. Her father ran this town. He owned the biggest newspaper business in all the country. With that kind of power, she would have all sorts of friends in high spaces. Friends with big houses, fancy clothes, and money to burn. Right now, she could’ve been anywhere else, hanging with high society’s cream of the crop.

But she wasn’t, he realized. She was with him. Just another scrappy newsboy with a dream.

It was no secret that Katherine grew up much more differently than the newsies; the world was practically handed to her on a silver platter. She never had to want for much. She had money, status, and everything a girl could wish for. Her father was the wealthiest man in the whole city. But being up here, being with him, it was something she wouldn’t trade for anything her father could buy.

Jack quietly stood up beside her, and taking a breath, he threw a newspaper airplane, interrupting her trance. They smiled at each other, watching the high, crisp breeze carry it away. She folded another sheet and threw it off the fire escape, but it only got so far until it took a nosedive.

“At least it’ll be easier to find,” said Jack.

Katherine laughed. “I was never good at paper planes.” Her eyes caught sight of the World building, not too far away. “Say, have you thought about the job my father gave you?”

Jack stared at his own plane, still flying in the distance. “‘M plannin’ on takin’ it.”

Her face lit up. Jack could be illustrating for the papers, a job that would pay much more than hawking them. “Really?”

“Dunno how I’m gonna take it, though,” he added. “How’s it work? What, do I just walk in or somethin’ an’ tell ‘em I want the job?”

“I can arrange an interview for you,” she replied. A chill went down his spine. “I gotta talk to folks like them?”

Katherine put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re gonna be fine,” she gently said. “They know an artist when they see one. And don’t worry, they’re not gonna be super harsh.”

“Here’s to hopin’.” Jack sighed, seeing his paper plane finally hit a far-off wall and fall to the ground. They were quiet for a moment. He blinked, finding the courage to ask her something he’d been meaning to, for a while.

“Why me?” he asked.

She looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

He repeated the question, but she only gave him a confused look. He decided to rephrase. “Why do you hang around with me?”

“What do you mean “why”?”

“Why?” Jack repeated a third time. “Why me? You got lots’a other guys to choose from, they’s probably better than I’ll ever be. This kinda thing, it’s just- it’s never happened before.”

Katherine paused, giving him a tender look. “It hasn’t,” she began. “Even I’m surprised, to be honest. But, you know why. You were one of the first- only people to believe in me. And that means something. Not a lot of guys are like you, Jack.”

It was true. The strike gave them something to fight for that was much bigger than themselves. What only started as an effort to lower the price of newspapers gave light to the importance of the rights of New York’s working kids. And, in the midst of the whirlwind, they found each other. Just two kids fighting for what they believed in.

They didn’t say it, but a familiar, warm feeling began to form in their chests. It was there, in the wind that rushed past them, in the way they simply stood together, in the way he slowly reached to lace his fingers with hers. And it was there in their silence; though there wasn’t much to say, as young as they were, they understood.

Jack kissed her on the forehead and pulled her into a slightly swaying embrace. “For sure?” he whispered into her hair.

“For sure,” she mumbled into his chest. Her mind calmed while she listened to the beating of his heart.

“Your father ain’t too happy with us bein’ here.”

“He isn’t.”

“Does he know I climb the fire escape after work to see ya?”

“He does.”

“Good.”

They softly laughed. He wished things could stay like this forever. So did she.

Jack pulled away and held her hand. He picked up a bundle of newspapers and shoved them into his back pocket. “Let’s get you back ‘fore he sends the Bulls after me.”

Katherine chuckled. They went the same way they came, the city below growing louder and louder around them with every step. She’d almost forgotten how noisy these streets actually were. She was fine walking herself back to the World, despite Jack’s insistence to take her there. With a kiss and a wave goodbye, the two went their separate ways.

As soon as Jack rounded a corner, he exhaled deeply. He leaned on the brick wall and ran a hand through his hair, a smile creeping on his face. It felt like a dream; he managed to score a date, and with a girl like her. He wished she could’ve stayed longer, but at least he had those sketches he made of her.

But then, his eyes widened.

They weren’t there.

Meanwhile elsewhere, Katherine hadn’t gone too far away when she stopped, stepping on a newspaper airplane. And unfolding it, she couldn’t hold in her smile.

#newsies #newsies forever #newsies fanfiction #fanfiction #fluff #first date fluff #jatherine #jack kelly x katherine plumber #jack kelly #katherine plumber #katherine newsies #davey jacobs #crutchie Morris #writers on ao3 #writers on tumblr #plootosart

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koteosa · 5 years ago

Note

🔥 Asrian and sharing a bed

I angsted all over this but uh, here you go friendo

ao3 link

In the dead of night, there were really only two reasons Julian would ever expect to hear a knock at his bedroom window. Either it was the rapid and tinking taps of Malak demanding to be let inside, or it was a very weak burglar attempting to break in and rob him blind. Or kill him in his sleep, perhaps, it wasn’t like he had very many valuables to begin with.

The sound clearly wasn’t the tapping of a bird’s beak, and it wasn’t very persistent or threatening, either. Rather, it was hesitant, a single knock followed several seconds later by three more, almost as quiet as the first. He holds a candle up to the window, but can’t find anything on the other side of it, and frowns. A prank, maybe?

His curiosity gets the better of him. Pulling his eyepatch back on, he sets the candle down on a table nearby, sliding the window up to take a peek outside. No one immediately jumps out to drive a dagger into his throat, so that was good. He almost doesn’t see anything worth noting at all; likely never would, if not for the way fluffy white hair and a bright orange vest stand out so plainly against the darkness of night.

A murderer would have made more sense than this. Hell, the Count would have made more sense, showing up at his bedroom window at the witching hour, long after most people had gone to bed. There was no reason for Asra to be here.

Yet there he was, kneeling outside like he had already changed his mind about visiting, and was hoping Julian just wouldn’t see him.

Asra turns his head, and their eyes meet. Julian doesn’t like what he sees there, the ring of red in his tired lavender eyes, clothes haphazardly arranged about his body like he’d thrown them on in a hurry, hair tousled. The sight has Julian’s mind racing to figure out what happened; had he been attacked? Did someone die? Was someone about to die? Why wasn’t he at the palace, with his parents? Wouldn’t they be much higher on his list of people to run to?

The magician raises fluidly to his feet, lips parting to say something, but without having the right words. It doesn’t matter; Julian shoves the window up the rest of the way and frantically coaxes him inside. The urgency brings a look of surprise to Asra’s eyes, but he follows without question, climbing easily in through the window. Julian closes it behind him, not wanting to let the chill get in anymore than it already had.

Asra stands awkwardly in the center of the room, looking around at his surroundings. His hands are fidgeting, fingers curling and uncurling without his bag to hold onto. With his back turned, all Julian can see are the colorful swirls and patterns of his vest, hanging slightly off one shoulder.

“Is everything alright?” Julian asks, carrying the candleholder with him over to the hearth nearby, paying more attention to Asra than to what he’s doing with his hands. Somehow he manages to set the candle down on the mantle without setting the house on fire.

Rather than answer, Asra kneels down by the hearth, lighting a fire with his magic. It burns weakly, a bright blue that begins to shift colors as he teases it with a fresh log of wood. It begins to spread more after that.

Once that’s done, he raises to his feet, leaning back against the side of the fireplace. He crosses his arms over his waist, plainly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry I showed up so late,” he says, eyes directed at the floorboards. “And without warning,” he adds, wincing slightly as he turns to stare at a nearby shelf.

“I don’t mind,” Julian replies honestly, still struggling to figure out why, exactly, the magician was here in the first place. “I'd… offer you some tea, but coffee’s all I’ve got, I’m afraid.”

Asra shakes his head. “That’s not why I’m here,” he says quietly.

“Well, I should hope not. This isn’t a cafe, it’s a clinic,” Julian jokes, hoping to see even the hint of a smile on Asra’s face, so tired and blank. He isn’t successful. Rather, it’s as though Asra hadn’t heard a single word, turning to him with an odd look he wasn’t used to seeing on the magician’s face. Actually, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen this, the melancholy in his eyes, brows creased and lips parted. It felt wrong, like he shouldn’t be allowed to see this. They weren’t anything to each other, were never truly anything to each other.

“I can’t sleep anymore,” Asra says, still speaking in low tones, like he was sick. A silver eye narrows down at him.

“I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

Asra scoffs humourlessly. “I know. I know,” he says, and reaches up to cover half his face, eyes falling closed with an exhausted sigh. Nodding slowly, Julian lifts the candle back up, glancing back towards his desk.

“I think I understand,” he says, gesturing towards the desk, where a wooden chair and matching stool were arranged around piles of books and parchment. They head over to it in silence, with Asra keeping his head down all the while.

After perching on the stool, Asra slumps against the nearest surface; the wall, in this case. It was as though he hadn’t the energy left to hold up his own body anymore. Surely it wasn’t that he felt safe and comfortable enough to do something like that around Julian. Certainly not.

“So,” Julian continues, filling the silence Asra left behind, “You want me to prescribe you something.”

A sarcastic smirk appears on Asra’s face as a bitter laugh parts his lips. “Spells work a lot better than any medicine you could give me, Ilya,” he says, in a rather smug way that has Julian wanting to argue that notion for the next four hours, but he holds back, instead focusing on the actual response.

Frowning, he says, “There’s no other treatment I can offer you, I’m afraid, and I have the chronic insomnia to prove it.”

“I know,” Asra sleepily mumbles, eyes languidly surveying a book laid out on Julian’s desk. “I know you do.”

Utterly lost, Julian asks, “Then, why come to a doctor’s office? Is there some other problem? Or do you need someone to talk to that isn’t your parents? I would have thought your apprentice would come before me.”

“I don’t want to talk about them,” Asra says, louder and clearer than anything else he’d said that night, with an odd crease of his brows that has Julian even more confused. Since when was he not utterly delighted by the mere concept of his apprentice? Were they fighting? Was that why he was here?

He couldn’t ask, not after Asra had very explicitly just stated that he didn’t want to talk about it. So, not talk about it they did.

“Right,” Julian says lamely. Not sure what else to say, lest he repeat himself yet again, he waits patiently for Asra to say something else, to explain himself. He looked on the verge of falling asleep on the spot, surely he couldn’t go on much longer.

It takes awhile for Asra to get the words out. It felt much longer for Julian, who wasn’t anywhere near as tired, despite the rather advanced hour. “I haven’t slept alone in years,” Asra says. “Not since…”

Sorrow fills his eyes, and he turns his head closer toward the wall, hiding half his face in the wallpaper.

“Before them, I shared a bed with my best friend. And before him it was my parents. But I’m far too old to climb into bed with them, and… I barely recognize them anymore. I don’t feel comfortable around them like I used to.”

Which left…

“Asra,” Julian says, with just enough disapproval in his voice for Asra to begin to curl in on himself in shame. He turns, looking for the window he came in from.

“This was a mistake,” Asra says, raising up off the stool. “I’m going back—”

A black, gloved hand reaches out, latching frantically onto Asra’s wrist. They both turn to it in shock, the impulsive action outside Julian’s control, yet it works to get him to ease back into his seat as he was before. Or an approximation of it, at least; he was far too tense now to do anything but sit there, stiff as a board.

Julian sighs. This was a bad idea.

“You should know,” he says, “I don’t sleep well at night. If you want to sleep now, which you look like you do, you’re going to have to use one of those spells on me. The tablets I keep in the clinic don’t work very well on me anymore.”

It takes a moment for his words to register, but when they do, Asra looks up at him in surprise. After the surprise fades, it’s almost like he doesn’t believe him, or doesn’t like the idea, despite it clearly being what he was after. His lips part like he has something to say, yet nothing ever comes out, and he just nods instead, staring down at the floor as usual.

This was going to be a really long night.

Beginning to tug some of his extra layers off, Julian raises to his feet, gesturing towards the bed in the corner of the room. It was large enough for two to fit comfortably inside, with a rich red quilt and matching pillows, plus sheer, black curtains pinned to the canopy overhead. Undressing in total silence, Asra leaves his extra clothing and boots by the window, while Julian changes properly, as he does—well, certainly not every night, considering most nights he just collapsed somewhere without planning and woke up in wrinkled clothing.

Dressed in black leggings and a pale blouse for sleeping in, he finds Asra hovering near the bed, waiting for him to make the first move. Those gold buttons on his pants did not look comfortable to lay on, nor did the beige shirt, but he clearly wasn’t comfortable taking them off, and Julian didn’t own a single thing that would fit on someone so much smaller than him. He decides not to comment on it.

“I presume you’ll want to sleep on the outside,” Julian says. Avoiding eye contact, Asra nods, shuffling a bit closer to the bed after Julian has climbed inside, pulling back the covers for him.

Asra lays facing him, while Julian tucks the covers up over the magician’s shoulders. Perhaps a little too dotingly, considering they weren’t even together, anymore—were never together, he reminds himself. A little embarrassed by his behavior, he goes to turn toward the wall, only to be stopped by a hand on his bicep, tugging lightly. Their eyes meet, and he catches something desperate in the magician’s gaze. The sight tugs at his heart strings a little too firmly.

But it’s quickly gone, as Asra leans in toward Julian’s neck, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the borderline deceased chill of Julian’s. His breath catches, unused to this kind of physical proximity from anyone, much less an old fling. Tawny hands remain clutching onto the front of his shirt, and he reciprocates, wrapping the magician up in his arms. It felt like the proper move to make, and judging by the way Asra moves closer, he’s not mistaken.

And he definitely wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep like this. His mind was too active, body too tense, heart too loud. At this rate, he’d spend all night and well into the morning pondering over what this meant, how and if this would change things between them. Did Asra want things to change between them? Did Julian want that? He’d meant to resolve himself to seeing them better as friends, and this was making all his efforts crash down around him. Having Asra so close was dangerous for his heart, pounding away in his chest as it was currently.

Oh god, did he notice? He must know, of course he knew, they were laying so close together, he had to notice.

Right as he’s starting to panic about that, he hears something that drags him forcefully out of his thoughts. A sharp breath, followed by the sound of sniffling. It’s then that he registers the shaking in Asra’s shoulders, and his rising panic finds a new source.

“Asra?” Pulling back slightly, he tries to get a better look at the magician’s face, but he curls in on himself, moving his hands to cover his face. Oh, no, no no… “What happened? Did something… Did I do something wrong? Why are you crying?”

This was new, and seemingly impossible, before tonight. Never once had he seen Asra crumble. He was quicker to anger than fear, or sadness, or generally anything vulnerable. Something had to have gone catastrophically wrong, Julian was sure of it.

But Asra doesn’t respond, and Julian doesn’t know how to react. He didn’t own the guidebook on Asra Alnazar, that was up to his apprentice, or his parents, or his friend, people he actually liked. They were barely even friends. After the investigation ended, he hadn’t seen fit to make many appearances outside the palace. They’d been out for drinks maybe twice, that was it. Julian didn’t even know what Asra’s parents’ names were!

“Do you want me to take you back to the palace? I’ll walk you home, up to your room, even, or… or maybe you don’t want me around, I’ll just show you to the door, then, you don’t have to use the window. Much more civilized, and we don’t have to talk about this ever again. I’ll wipe tonight from my memory completely—”

The feeling of Asra pressing closer, arms snaking around his back to cling tight enough for stubby nails to be felt digging into flesh shuts him up. Not knowing what else to do, Julian wraps him up in his arms, a hand against the back of his head. His hair was so soft—not the time.

“I don’t want to go back,” Asra says, his voice surprisingly steady for someone who was definitely crying, Julian could feel the moisture against his chest. “It’s not the same room, but it reminds me of…”

“…The plague,” Julian finishes. Asra nods, his fingers curling tighter. At the time, he never would have thought Asra was struggling with much of anything terribly tragic. He seemed fine, much better than someone who had lost his lover, or anyone, really, to an epidemic. It was in reflection, after he knew, that he realized it had all been fake. Sometimes he wondered if he actually knew who Asra really was, at all.

But it was no wonder he was here, and not at the palace. He wasn’t so sure he’d feel comfortable there either, not this soon after moving in. “I’m not sure if I can help you,” he says, curling his fingers into Asra’s hair. There’s a prolonged moment of silence, apart from the sound of Asra’s strained breaths struggling to find calm, before he speaks again.

“You’re right,” Asra says. “You can’t.” Julian wasn’t sure what he was expecting to hear, but… that stung. He wanted to help, he wanted more than anything right now to be able to help. If he could wave his hand and say some magic words and cure Asra’s heartbreak just like that, he would. But he can’t. And he’s a doctor, not a therapist. Hardly even a friend, for that matter.

Asra was right. He couldn’t do anything.

“Well,” Julian starts, struggling to keep the hurt out of his tone, “My door is always open for you, whenever you want me. Or the window, I suppose.”

Maybe that was too suggestive, but Asra had to know what he meant. And he meant… well, anything. Even that. Hell, Asra could show up to kill him and he probably wouldn’t be able to find it in him to be mad. If it helped him heal, then so be it. Vesuvia could find a newer, better doctor to take his place.

Asra continues to cry quietly, and Julian strokes his hair, longing to be of any use to him at all. He wishes he could see the magician’s face, gently wipe away his tears. That he could do better than this, maybe wrap him up in a warm blanket and bring him tea, to tell him everything was going to be alright. The palace would stop being so scary and someone would be there to warm his bed eventually, he was still young and probably the most beautiful person Julian had ever laid eyes on.

But Julian was terrified of screwing things up. Everything between them had been precarious from the start, and Julian had done enough fucking it all up before he’d even known how delicate what they had was. He couldn’t screw it up now, not like this. Asra needed him, even if only because no one else was available.

That was fine. He would do whatever he could, whatever Asra wanted. Whatever he asked for, and more.

Eventually Asra’s breathing begins to even out. The grip on Julian’s back grows slack, yet Julian’s arms only wind tighter. The slumbering magician doesn’t seem to notice; he was always such a heavy sleeper. To think he was having trouble falling asleep seemed unfathomable.

Stroking gently through Asra’s curls, Julian focuses on the sound of his gentle breaths. The rise and fall of his chest against Julian’s own, the warmth of his body, the woodsy smell of his hair… Tugging his lip between his teeth, Julian suppresses a sigh.

He was a fool to think his feelings for the magician would ever qualify as “just friends”.

#the arcana #asrian #julian devorak #asra alnazar #the arcana fic #the arcana fanfic #asra x julian #Anonymous #not art #fic #m/nb #Rated T #canon/canon #the arcana writing

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araminia16 · 5 years ago

Text

Best of the Situation (2/2)-Rated E

Chapter 1

Jester stared at the now green stone and she felt her throat bob as she swallowed. She shivered and felt Beau’s hands on her arms as she was shifted away.

Beau blocked the stone with her body while she rubbed Jester’s arms soothingly, “Hey. We can still try something else. You don’t have to do anything with anyone if you don’t want to.”

Jester swallowed again then focused on Beau’s face. The sincere softness she found there soothed some of the tension from her frame. “I don’t really know what to do. I’ve read stuff but I can’t think of anything now.”

“I don’t mind doing the work if that’s what you are worried about, Jess,” Beau answered Jester’s whisper with one of her own. They were close enough now that all she had to do would be to lean forward the two or three inches to kiss Jester but didn’t at the look of abashed embarrassment.

“But that wouldn’t be fair. What about you? I mean orgasms are really pretty nice.”

“I can do that myself, Jess. No big deal. I promise. You take care of us all the time so it's time someone took care of you.”

“But...I don’t know where to put my hands or how to move my face or anything. What if I’m really bad?”

Beau let the smile spilt her features as she shook her head, “You’ll be fine. Just follow my lead, okay? I’ll keep you covered up.”

Jester’s gaze pierced through Beau’s face to the green stone as she worried her lip between white teeth. “So what do I do again?”

“Close your eyes and breathe,” Beau watched the bright lavender disappear behind long eyelashes and blue lids and waited a few seconds before she leaned in and pressed brown to blue with the softest intention. She drew back after a few seconds and smiled again when Jester’s brow furrowed and she blinked before opening her eyes.

“Is that a kiss? It wasn’t anything like the smut I read.”

Beau felt her belly twist up at the critique but didn’t let it show, “Close your eyes again and just do what feels okay. But you have to tell me if you don’t like something I do. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Jester nodded and closed her eyes once more while Beau leaned in again and pressed her lips to Jester’s a second time. This time Beau leaned into it and all the stupid smut books and thier descriptions of kissing ran through her head. Jester’s lips really were so soft. Like rose petals and silk and it caught her off guard when Jester tried to reciprocate. Her technique was flawed and the attempt made Beau’s traitorous heart flutter. The tip of her nose bumped into Beau’s as she leaned in and Beau had to take her chin in hand and tilt her ever so slightly.

This time when they pulled back Jester’s lips parted and she felt the flush in her cheeks and the way her heart did this flippy thing when Beau gave her this look. A tender thing from the gruff monk.

But Jester’s eyes drifted as they do and her attention divided between Beau and the knowledge her first kiss had been witness by a bunch of pervy people. The sour thought drowned the blush in a wash of cold while she pulled back and crossed her arms, “That was better I think. Have you kissed a lot of people?”

“Enough. You did pretty good yourself. We can keep doing that for a while if you want, just to get used to it. If they want to watch then we can take our time, right?” Beau reached out and her fingers enclosed over one of Jester’s hands to give it a comforting squeeze.

Jester nodded and leaned in again but the brightness in her eyes seemed dimmer somehow and her body language more closed off than Beau wanted but they had time to loosen up. Beau leaned in and this time Jester tilted her head properly while they kissed once, twice, three times before Beau broke off to kiss the bottom of Jester’s chin. “You okay, Jessie?” She whispered close to the pointed ear of her friend.

Jester nodded but Beau could smell the lie and gave her a measured look. She followed Jester’s gaze to the green stone and shifted with the speed and grace of her training to pull Jester off balance to end up with her back to the stone. It stared Beau in the face now but it was whatever. “Jester. I want you to focus on me, okay? Just me. Don’t think about the stone or the circumstance or what you might be afraid of. You gotta let it all go. I told you I would take care of you and I will but you can’t think about it. I can’t do this if you don’t like it too.”

“What if I like it too much? What if I like you too much or something? You wouldn’t want to be stuck with me forever or anything would you? With Yasha somewhere else? Or what if I don’t like it at all, I don’t want to make you feel bad or anything, Beau. You are my best friend and I don’t want either of us to be hurt with this so maybe I shouldn’t like it that much. Maybe you should just do what you need to do and we can leave and nothing will change and we will still be friends.” Jester had devolved in the way she did when she felt stressed out as the words poured fast from her mouth so much Beau almost wasn’t able to catch it all.

Brown hands framed Jester’s freckled cheeks while her eyes latched onto Jester with a hard look, “Nothing will ever make me stop being your friend, got it? Nothing. No matter what happens here we will still be friends but I won’t have you dead fish on me. Not when you are so bright and beautiful and deserve more than this. You deserve the romantic beach and the seaside and the castles and everything else in those smut books but if you just think we are in some nice room on the beach with the Nicodranas sunset in the distance it can be special to you. Okay? So just focus on me and think of your home and not about anything else. We can leave and figure it out later.” Beau had started to stroke her thumb along Jester’s cheek as a single tear fell from her eye.

Jester gave her a watery smile and nodded, “Okay. As long as you promise.”

“Always, Jess.”

Beau leaned in and captured Jester’s lips in another kiss and this time instead of closing her eyes Jester kept them open. It was strange being so close to someone and looking at them while they kissed you but it was nice. Beau’s eyes were always really pretty.

With only a little bit of timidness Jester reached up and put her hand on Beau’s shoulder. The bare skin felt really warm and soft and nice and so she kept it there while they parted and came together, learning how to move and breathe as a unit. Jester felt Beau’s hand press against the back of her neck fingers parting short hair while the other hand and forearm wrapped around her back. Jester felt the flex of taut muscle as Beau pulled her closer, falling back with Jester sprawled into her lap. The squeak parted flushed lips and Beau looked a lot different than she did before. The affection was there in her eyes but also something else that made her belly feel funny. It was a moment before the kissing started again but as they met again Jester now sat well balanced in Beau’s lap with her legs sprawled out to the side. It made her dress ride up her thighs but the leggings kept anything from showing. “Remember. You have to tell me if you don’t like something.” Beau’s normally rough voice seemed rougher and more breathless and Jester smiled at her.

“Okay.”

Beau pulled her in but this time Jester’s lips parted in a soft sigh as Beau’s lips met the line of her cheek along her chin, the hand at the back of her neck directed her to expose more of her flesh to Beau and it felt really pretty good. Beau kissed and nuzzled her pulse thrumming faster than she remembered and she heard the short sharp breaths of Beau in her ear.

She had often thought about what to call the place between her thighs. Sometimes the books called it a flower or treat or something really silly. Vulva or vagina seemed no fun at all. Pussy only reminded her of Frumpkin and then Caleb. Core seemed stupid too. Cunt was visceral and crass but at the moment she thought it might fit as it warmed in arousal.

“You are doing so good Jessie,” Beau praised and Jester could only nod and gasp in reply, her hand spasming as Beau hit something she liked. Her other hand, useless at her side lifted to grab onto Beau while the heat under her skin seemed a little scary but in a good way.

Beau did it again while the hand at Jester’s neck rubbed and massaged to help keep her calm.

Beau felt the little motions Jester’s hips did every time she pulled at blue flesh with her mouth. The smallest little cants for more that Jess probably didn’t even know she was doing and Beau needed to make it happen more. Beau was already wet and ready and they hadn’t even gotten to the good part. “Is it okay to take these buttons down a little?”

Jester’s dress had buttons halfway up the dress and a small corset underneath but it took her a second to register what Beau had said with her eyes closed and her body like a livewire. “A couple, maybe. Are you going to kiss me more? I like it.”

It was endearing the small way she admitted her desire and Beau wanted to fulfill it. Beau used a single hand to pop open three buttons and expose more blue skin with the lines of shimmering silver to her hands and eyes. It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen each other naked before but this was different. This time she could really appreciate how beautiful Jester really was. Beau broke the kiss with an audible pop and leaned Jester back a little. There was a purple-red flush to her neck and upper chest , her collarbones were elegant and the hint of a swell of her breasts made her quite the picture just as her tattoo did.

“Do you want me to touch you or kiss you?” She whispered into the space between them with bright and eager eyes.

“You can do whatever you want, Jess.”

“Okay then. Can we dance?” At Beau’s befuddled look she cackled, “Not really, Beau. I really like to dance but this is a bit more fun than that. Can I see you without your vest thing?It looks like it might get in the way just a little bit.”

Beau shook her head with affectionate exasperation, “Sure.” She shucked the coat off with little preamble and out of the corner of her eye caught Jester’s unabashed ogling before she turned back. This time it was Beau who was caught off guard as Jester’s hands shot up to either side of her face and pulled her forward.

Neither of them were sure after they surfaced how Beau ended up on her back with Jester straddling her hips kissing and kissing and kissing until they were both dizzy and breathless with need. Somewhere in the mix Jester’s dress ended up hiked up nearly over her hips and Beau’s hands kneaded and scratched on the ample flesh of her backside. Jester arched in when Beau’s nails traced her upper thighs and plump fanged mouth bit and sucked at dark skin with enthusiasm.

Jester spread her thighs further apart when Beau hauled her up to play and scratch along the back of her thighs while Jester moaned and shuddered above her. So unabashed despite her earlier reluctance. Beau fought the urge to trail her hands in between Jester’s thighs despite feeling the heat of her hovering over the skin of Beau’s abs.

Jester’s hands trailed up and buried themselves in Beau’s hair. The topknot style in disarray and so she watched the strands fall around Beau’s face with affection. “Still okay?”

“Yep. Those perverts can watch all they like because I’m amazing, aren’t I?”

“Sure are, Jess.”

Jester giggled and rubbed the tip of her nose on Beau’s before kissing it and rolling off. “I really want to get naked. I’m all sweaty and hot.”

“If you want,” Beau wouldn’t stop her.

“You could help me a little, couldn’t you Beau?”

“Y-yeah. Absolutely.” She sat up and her hands shot for the buttons along the front of her dress only to find that it was not a dress. The cloth fell to either side of blue skin and exposed white lace in a mid corset. It slipped down her arms with a whisper and Jester leaned back while biting her lip with a fang exposed. When Beau reached for the skirt Jester quickly shook her head and her eyes darted to the green light.

Beau crawled forward only to grab onto Jester and pulled her forward with just enough momentum that the tiefling sprawled into Beau’s lap. She righted herself and shifted so her legs draped across Beau’s hips and thighs once more. A few scars dotted the feast of flesh before Beau’s eyes and each one earned on their travels. Calloused hands splayed out and nearly covered Jester’s shoulders before trailing over the defined muscles of her arms then across her toned belly with relish. “You really like my muscles don’t you? Fjord once said something about my being able to crush a melon with my thighs but I don’t really think I’m that strong, do you?”

All at once her head spun with the images of Jester’s thighs pinning her in place while she ate Jester out and found her lips parted when she came back to herself as well as a rather curious look from Jester. Beau decided to distract them both by bringing her hands up to cup her fairly generous breasts.

Jester leaned her head back with a sigh while Beau kneaded and stroked her lace covered breasts. Flesh pebbled under her palms and Beau smoothed two fingers over the peak before she pinched lightly and a rough cry echoed around them both while her hips canted over nothing. Beau teased and pinched until Jester’s cries echoed without end and the sound of something slapping the bed over and over again caught her attention. Beau brought her mouth down over one peak and sucked while her other hand continued to work all the while Jester wailed and clawed at her shoulders and back and each sting was a welcome reminder of her skill. She should have known Jester would be expressive and eager. It was the way she did everything and it was one of the things Beau loved about her.

Jester was too warm, molten and raw like volcano cakes from home and she could feel the thrashing of her tail while the heat pulsed from the places Beau touched to the really damp spot between her legs. She knew what would happen eventually and a tiny speck of anxiety twisted at the core of her heat. What if she wasn’t all that pretty down there? It wasn’t like Jester had looked really recently or done much maintenance on the road. What if she didn’t like it? Or thought she like Beau but maybe didn’t really and it would be really awkward and she wouldn’t want to be her roommate anymore.

Beau pulled up from Jester’s breast when the tiefling suddenly quieted and tensed and sighed. Jester was back in her own head again. “Hey,” Beau stroked a couple of her fingers along Jester’s cheek. “What’s going on in there?”

“You don’t want to know Beau it's a pretty scary place up here,” Jester joked. “I’m fine. Can I do things to you now?”

Beau didn’t believe her for a second but leaned back, “You don’t have to ask, Jess. I mean it.”

Jester slowly and carefully reached up and Beau had to smile a little at the small tongue sticking out of her mouth. Long delicate fingers pressed softly into the flesh of Beau’s neck, then traced down her collarbones and in between the dip of her top, down past her breasts then tickled toned abs, lingering on the scar on her left side before her whole palm slid back up over her thick shirt and traced over her lips. Beau nipped playfully at Jester’s finger and she let out a soft gasp but didn’t pull back even when Beau wrapped her lips around a digit and drew it in.

Beau watched Jester’s pupils dilate and her lips part as she swirled her tongue around her finger and released it. “Come on, Jess. Don’t be afraid.”

Jester’s eyes narrowed and she stroked her damp finger down Beau’s chin and ended just above Beau’s breasts. Nowhere near as well endowed or soft and Jester’s were they still were adequate and even more so when Jester stroked her thumb over where she thought the peak of it was.

Beau let out a soft breath and Jester did it again.

“Do you want it off?”

Jester shook her head, “No. Not unless you do.”

She began to mimic the things Beau did to her but leaned in to hover over the monk to dip down for one kiss, two, three, until they lost count and Beau panted each time Jester retreated eager for the next kiss, next touch, next anything as long as it smelled of sugar and mischief. “Are you nervous?” Dizzy with desire Beau still sighed out the question through each throb Jester’s clever fingers produced.

“Yes.” Jester answered and pinched Beau’s nipple sharply ripping a spasm from her.

“So am I.”

Jester pulled back with a dubious stare, “You’ve done this before.”

“But not really with someone I actually care about. Not since before I left home. I don’t want to fuck it up.” Beau shifted forward and stroked Jester’s hair with just a hint of blunted nails.

“You won’t. What do we do now? Cause the door is still locked.”

“I know what I want to do but I think it would be a little too much for you.”

Jester leaned in and kissed Beau again long and full of bottled enthusiasm, “Is it kinky?”

Beau laughed, “No you wierdo.” Beau trailed her fingers down past Jester’s breasts to rest at the top of her skirt. “I want you out of this. I want you splayed out before me screaming my name. I want you so lost in pleasure you won’t be able to stand it.”

“Oh. Well. Sure. That’s cool too.” Jester stuttered out while Beau shifted her off and with a few aborted motions and direction had her settled atop soft pillows at the head of the bed.

Beau crawled slowly up Jester’s body watching the way Jester watched her with dark pupils nearly taking up her entire eye so only a sliver of lavender remained. Beau settled alongside her best friend and pulled her so that they faced each other. She took that time to gently coax Jester with soft strokes of her fingers through her hair to watch the blue locks fall haphazardly. Brushed the base of her scalp where her horns protruded and did so until the lust filled haze of Jester’s gaze dimmed while her eyelids drooped with contentment. Beau even swore that she purred a little bit. The same hand trailed over soft skin, down her neck and over her arm then altered course to slide over Jester’s defined core and then above to give her ass a light squeeze.

Jester laughed then while she burrowed further into the pillows and watched Beau with expectant hesitation.

Beau grasped the back of Jester’s thigh after letting her nails trail over the back of it to listen to Jester’s short heavy whine and pulled it over her hip. The skirt was long enough to keep things hidden even without the tights. Even then Beau let her fingers linged near Jester’s knee where it rested on her hip. She ran over and over the skin while watching Jester and with another bitten lip she nodded and Beau slowly made her way up. She could feel the heat from between Jester’s legs long before she pressed a finger just so along the crease of it.

Jester’s eye never left Beau’s though her lips parted and she grasped onto Beau’s arm but not in fear or anxiety but to keep her steady.

Slowly Beau trailed a finger over the dampness where she soaked into her tights and Jester’s sharp inhale had her pause.

Jester could feel Beau like a heartbeat. Every little tiny movement seemed so much more in the small space. It felt a little like eating a really good pastry, that joy, but this was so much more delicious the way it seeped into her muscle and bone. Coupled with the way Beau looked at her with such affection it stoked whatever flame in her hotter. Jester gasped when Beau’s finger added more pressure and felt the way her body pulsed in time with the way her heart hammered at her ribs. It wasn’t even that exciting. No skin on skin the way Jester did it but still it left her moaning softly and hips canting into Beau’s touch. Her grip tightened and Beau moved closer to the top and little circles had her bury her face into the pillow and cry out. Heat curled and thrashed about in her belly while Beau whispered things into her ear that she couldn’t really hear but the tone was of gentle encouragement. She moaned into the pillow and rolled her hips harder. It wasn’t long after when the trembling began. The fully body shiver staring in her belly and radiating out to the rest of her while she let out a scream and trembled while Beau held her somehow with the other arm still not letting up until the last of her shaking ended.

Beau was a little put out that Jester hid from her when it got too much for her but she understood though the scream sounded an awful lot like her name. She wiped her fingers on the bed glistening with Jester’s juices and stroked her back and neck, “I’ve got you. It’s okay.” And other sweet nothings until Jester rose from the pillow and leaned in to kiss Beau.

“That was fucking amazing, Beau.”

And if that didn’t puff out her chest a little bit nothing would. “I know.”

Jester glanced at the door and found it to be locked still. “I don’t think we are going to get out of here like that. But these pants are probably ruined.” She turned onto her back and parted her thighs while she stretched and sank back into the bed. “I could do you the same way.”

“We should get you out of those tights.”

Jester eyed Beau with her trademarked mischief, “Do you want to get into my pants, Beau?”

“Hell yeah.” She breathed out.

“It wouldn’t be very fair to you, would it?”

“Life’s not fair but I really want to eat you out. You can do me after. I’ll probably come way too fast.”

“Does it really get you going? Is it really that good cause I don’t think it tastes very good.”

“It’s not about taste. It’s about the experience.” Beau rose up and splayed her hands up the sides of Jester’s thighs to grab onto the tights and drag them down still making sure to expose as little of Jester as she could. She had to swallow a few times to keep everything in check while strong blue legs appeared inch after inch. The contrast of the brown and blue struck her again as very pretty while she glided her palms up the insides of Jester’s legs.

“What if it smells bad down there?”

“Impossible.”

“Or looks weird?”

“Vaginas are weird but really really fun so don’t worry about it. I bet it's as pretty as the rest of you.”

Jester smiled and Beau felt her heart skip a little bit at the blush on her cheeks, “You are really pretty too, Beau.”

Beau continued up Jester’s thighs and without any signs otherwise pulled her thighs apart and settled between them. It was dark enough only the glistening pink was clear enough to be seen. A faint shimmer of dark blue hair dotted the top possibly in the shape of...something… but everything Beau could see was mouthwateringly nice and she kissed an inner thigh.

Jester twitched and held her breath as Beau planted small, sweet kisses to her thighs. She couldn’t really see much but maybe that was a good thing as she felt a little bit of energy flare to life at the sound of Beau’s little noises of delight.

Jester smelled as sweet as she thought she would and when she licked a broad stripe from bottom to top without preamble Jester’s hips nearly dislodged her.

Beau doubled down while hooking her arms up under Jester’s ass to keep her still and set to work . Flavor and musk peppered her tongue while she set to work lapping and stroking the searing hot pink flesh dripping with more slick with each pass.

Jester felt like she was too hot. Like she would burn up when Beau slowed down and softened her touch. Fingers pressed into the wood above her while she strained and cried out. Her vision dimmed a little while she rolled her hips into the slick muscle currently making her lose all sense of herself. Sharp, high gasps quickened even as Beau’s pace didn’t change over the swollen bud which gave her so much sensation. The steady methodical climb to climax had her trembling once more with each cry more shrill than the last until she shuddered and clawed at the bed as the waves of climax slammed into her over and over again like when high tide would come at home. Beau eased up near the end and Jester thought it was over but then she changed tactics and started again. “Beau.” Jester moaned when she felt a bolt of lightning come from her cunt as Beau’s lips wrapped around her bud and sucked gently. Then back to the slow press and circles until Jester was half mad and giggling madly with the overload of sensation with each climax almost more intense than the last. By the time she finished her hands were buried into Beau’s hair and her skirt was nearly up to her hips. She clenched on nothing but could feel each heartbeat in her skin and it nearly made her come again.

Beau wiped her face on the sheets not stained wet and the sight of Jester loose limbed and dazed could only make her wish for more moments between them. With another motion she pulled the skirt back down to hide preserve whatever modesty she had left. Beau crawled up to settle next to her and felt something stroke at her thigh through her loose pants. The hard press of something triangle shaped against her clothed but still very aroused core caused the breath to escape her lungs while a round shape slid along her thigh. Both pressures left her suddenly while her she adjusted halfway up Jester’s body in line with her lace covered chest and then the triangle, hot and flexible pressed on her belly to slide into her pants and underwear with near perfect ease. Past the edge of her belly, down through dark curls and into hot silk. Beau moaned and leaned into Jester, clenching the sheets while it stroked and tapped over the outer edges of her, wet enough and needing enough even that was almost the end for her.

Jester looked over Beau to see the door swing open but decided to keep going. She was too unsteady now to use her fingers or anything but her tail was just as good. Better sometimes when she was of a mood for it. And Beau looked so pretty with her hair falling over her face and her little cries pressing into Jester’s skin.

Beau whined and rolled her hips, begging for more and with a slight adjustment the blunted edge slid between eager lips and along molten heat, velvet and so slick it was a little hard to get friction. The tip teased around the firm bud of her clit and again her fists clenched sheets and she moaned into Jester’s skin. “Jess. What--?”

“Shhh. Sometimes I like doing things with my tail. It feels nice, doesn’t it?”

Somehow her entire body pulsed with the next spike of pure want. Jester touched herself like this? How often. Oh. Gods. Oh. It tapped against her now and each bit of contact had her clenching around nothing. Then the thin taper of her tail slid back and forth with the spade pressing just so into her. Beau dissolved into open mouthed gasps, hanging forever at the precipice and almost wanting to beg to make it stop or keep it going forever. It could have been hours at the edge or just seconds but Jester’s hands stroked the tattoo behind her neck and threaded through her hair tenderly and she kept her sweat soaked cheek glancing over rough lace. “Please. Please.” She babbled and thrust her hips forward, down, anything to give her just a little more pressure.

It moved and the edge ran over and over her clit in rapid succession which was just was she needed while her body bowed up and she let out a ragged scream as her vision dimmed and her whole body pulsed with too much energy. Jester didn’t stop and kept it going until she was grabbing for her tail and finally Jester yanked it out, sopping wet with Beau’s release. It glided over Beau’s skin and lay on the bed still glistening with evidence of what she had done with the appendage.

Beau moaned when Jester hauled her up like she weighed nothing and set her in a cuddle next to her. “The door’s open.” She whispered to the still dazed monk and stroked her softly through her resurface to the world.

“I think I’m going to take a nap,” Beau replied and kissed at Jester’s collarbone. “We should stay here.”

“I don’t think our friends would like that very much.”

“Screw ‘em.”

“I’m not sure that would be a good idea either, Beau. Since we just did that to each other.”

“Where did you learn that trick?”

“By myself. Plus my mama had five clients one night and she was talking about how handy her tail was with them.”

“We should go then before they decide to keep us.”

When they both felt a little more grounded Jester rose and pulled back on her blouse and used the dirty sheets to clean up the mess she had made. The stone had changed back to red now and the door remained open.

Beau put her vest back on and cleaned up in the bathroom . Not much to do for the pants and underwear but oh well. It would wash out. They pulled on their boots and stared at the door.

“Friends?”

“Always.” Beau replied and Jester leaned on her shoulder for a moment before she took a deep breath and stood up followed by Beau.

Outside the room there was indeed two bags of gold along with an itemized receipt of gold owed and each extra thing added to the payment.

“Using my tail got us an extra 500 gold, huh.” Jester looked it over. It still wasn’t right what this place did but at least it wasn’t so bad.

“2,500 total for each of us isn’t bad. Now we should try to find the others and see what fucked up mess they got into.”

It didn’t take them long to find the exit or the remainder of their party.

After some awkward glances around Yasha admitted to the torture, Caduceus had been asked to strip and pose for painting, Nott had followed them and tried to make a plan to get them out, and Fjord and Caleb wouldn’t say what happened to them though Beau could infer from the blushes and avoidance of eye contact it had to be sex. She would get it out of them sooner or later.

As for Jester she seemed to glide back into the rest of them with ease and on the way out of the strange place she ever reached over to take Beau’s hand in hers as they walked into what remained of the day.

#Beaujester #Critical role #fanfiction #rated E #magical voyuerism #fluffy first time #best friends #beauregard lionett #jester lavorre #smut #fluff #playful sex #interesting use of a tiefling tail #Slow Growth will be updated next but I'm not sure when

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heathendolan · 6 years ago

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I Couldn’t Be More in Love [E.D]

Summary: Ethan’s not about cliches, he swears, but he has the feeling he might just die if he doesn’t tell you how he feels during your last senior prom slow dance.

Warnings: nothing but like I’m very sorry for the cheesy picture BUT LOOK HOW CUTE

Author’s Note: just a lil something I couldn’t get out of my head, it’s cheesy, it’s lame, it’s short, and it’s nothing special but my prom is next weekend and like c’mon how perfect would this be. just stopping by, hope you’re all doing fantastic!! love you all, and photo credits to popstyledolan (?? i’m not sure if this is instagram or twitter or tumblr, lmk if you guys know and i’ll add a link!!) ALSO like isn’t this song such a prom song I FEEL LIKE IT IS

Word Count: 2.6K+ || masterlist

Ethan had a gut full of fruit punch (spiked--thank you Casey Fraiser) and a head full of fuzz; what's a guy gotta do to get you for a slow dance?

He's slumped on the third row of the high school gymnasium's wooden, creaky bleachers, both hands threaded in the messy, over-gelled locks on his head, his foot tapping a mile a minute. And he should really be out there next to Grayson, whooping and hollering to the ancient Lil Jon song echoing out of the low budget DJ's rusted speakers, but he just can't stop thinking about you, okay? And this isn't new, and that's what's getting old.

He just wants one slow dance. Or two. Or three, or four, or ninety. It's the only time he gets the excuse to hold you close and make a fool of himself and not have to apologize once. He always does everything in his power to deprive the mood of romanticism, though.

Because this isn't the first or even the second dance he's spent beating himself up over you. No, this has become a tradition over the years; Ethan says something like, 'Hey, let's go together to the dance, just as friends, cause I don't want to waste my time begging some chick that's probably out of my league when I can take my best friend and have a way better time' (romantic, he knows), you guys suit up in your best homecoming, snowball, or prom attire, and spend the night together.

As just friends.

Ethan's made that super clear to you; Just Friends. Every single dance is Just Friends. And it's started to make less and less sense over the years, why he wouldn't go with Molly Kozial even though he'd been talking to her right up until promposals started getting popular again in March.

"Molly's a lot of work," he had said through a mouthful of fries, his feet kicked up on his dash in the parking lot of the McDonald's you guys went to all the time. "What's the good in going out, spending a shit ton of money on candy or whatever, getting all nervous to ask her, and having the drama of it the next day in school when I can just go with you? Easy as pie."

Right, you had thought. Cause I'm definitely not worth the time, or the candy, or the drama. Ethan had made that very clear by the eighth time he'd taken you to a dance.

It's not like you were going to bother yourself with the pain of his backhanded rejection; this was your senior prom. Just Friends is what you needed right before heading off to college--no need to invest yourself in some guy who'd inevitably break your heart by the end of summer.

"Yeah alright," you'd said, slurping a thick gulp of milkshake. "But I think I want to wear white this year and-"

"Nooo, everybody's going to say we're getting married," Ethan whined reflexively, his head flopping against his car seat and a pout on his lips.

"Deal with it," you shrugged. "That's what you get for your lack of, uh, chivalry?"

Ethan shot a glare your way. "Chivalry?" he asked through a bite of his cheeseburger. "I hav' pl'nty 'f chivalry."

"Right," you snorted, yanking the burger out of his hand and taking the biggest bite you could.

So you'd announced it oh-so-inanimately to your friend group at lunch the following day, ignored their pointed smirks and knowing glances, and searched for a prom dress worthy of your bank account. And it was fun! God, it was fun, it was always fun going with Ethan and your friends, but...

Well, but you wanted to feel wanted. You wanted that whole experience, getting asked with roses, being slow danced with and held tight. Ethan unfailingly went overboard on slow dances every year; he shouted the lyrics to the songs off key, spun you around dramatically, made fun of all the surrounding couples--just sucked any bit of romance out of it. Cause you guys were Just Friends.

And that was fine, but it wasn't perfect.

You looked around and saw him stuck up in the bleachers, his hair disheveled and his face pale where it hung. He looked awful--he looked sick. You stopped grinding on your best friend Courtney for a split second to examine him more properly.

Ethan did feel sick. He thought he was going to throw up thinking about what he was about to do.

Should he? Should he really expose himself like this, at a school dance of all places? Didn't you deserve better than that? You deserved a fun, drama-free night full of shitty 2000's music and even shittier spiked punch--the staples of a good prom. You deserved a bed of roses and chocolate truffles in those heart packages and a million other cliches. You deserved more than Ethan.

But it's May now, Ethan realizes. Realizes he's got exactly 24 days until graduation, and then only three months until college begins and you two split about half an hour apart. It's May and how much longer does he really have anyway? What if you died tomorrow? Ethan's heart actually sinks at the mere thought.

He looks up to see you frowning at him half a gym away, your hair dolled up all pretty, your face caked with all the make you don't need but love so much. You look spectacular in your dress, obviously. Ethan knows there's no way in fucking hell he can't do this tonight, cliches be damned.

And now, now Ethan's made a promise to himself--he's gonna tell you how he feels--and it feels like torture. He has the heaviest, most leaden bit of dread sunken in his stomach. And yet, he's gotta do this. He's just gotta.

You've started trekking towards him--wobbling like a newborn colt in those heels you forced yourself to wear--when the DJ says with the stalest of voices, "Alright everybody, we're going to slow things down a bit..."

It's a song Ethan would never know off the top of his head if he hadn't heard you singing it in the shower one time when he'd come over. He can still hear your voice--less than angelic, he will admit--wailing the lyrics of I Couldn't Be More In Love by the 1975. Rasp and cracks aside, the memory still makes his knees weak, even weaker than they are now, rising despite the butterflies in his belly begging him to sit back down. You halt where you are and gaze up at the rafters of the gym once you realize what song's playing, and Ethan can see the faint smile on your lips even in the lowlight and beams of disco glitter. He thinks he just might faint.

By the time he gets to you, he can hear his own pulse, can feel it too in the expanse of his neck and planes of his chest. His hands are clammy—no, clammy hardly covers it. He might just sweat through his dress shirt; luckily, he discarded the vest and dinner coat awhile ago. You're still grinning up at the ceiling and Ethan wonders if he should just run while he still has the chance.

But he doesn't, of course he doesn't, because he has to do this. So, he taps you on the shoulder gently, the most gentle he's probably ever been with you, and swallows the lump of fear in his throat. You look at him and grin, all teeth, and mumble, "I love this song."

"I know you do," Ethan blurts too quick, his words strangled. Slowly, he slides a hand down the length of your waist and wraps his palm there and takes your hand in the other. Then, the two of you realize that that just won't work, so he chuckles and pulls you in close, tight, fits you between his arms with his wrists dangling over each other behind your back. You slip your arms around his neck and it feels different this time, much different, and you wonder when Ethan grew up without you noticing.

"How'd you know?" you ask after a beat, a quirk in your brow.

Ethan pinches his eyes shut, cursing under his breath. "Uh..." he begins, swallowing thickly, "heard you sing it in the shower one time..."

He knows there are better ways to explain that, but he can't figure out any bit of the English language right now, not with you pressed against him naturally, like you could slow dance with him forever. He prays to god you can't feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

"Oh my god, tell me you're kidding," you groan, heat licking at the back of your neck. You bang your head against the bone of his shoulder, humiliated beyond repair. "I have the worst voice and you know that."

Ethan shakes his head right away, his hold on you tightening just a little. This is so foreign, Ethan being... God, if you didn't know any better, you'd almost say Ethan was nervous.

"That's okay, I like your voice," he squeaks.

You stiffen against him and then realize he can't possibly be serious, so you giggle in his ear. "E, stop sucking up to me, we're already best friends."

Ethan knows he has to do it now, now. He lets out a shaky breath and squeezes his eyes shut tight, counting back from ten.

But what about these feelings I've got? I couldn't be more in love.

By the end of that line, Ethan decides he must spit it out. "I know, and I hate it."

He hears your breath hitch in his ear, feels you tense and pull back from his chest, warmth disappearing from your body and your personality. Ethan knows he has to keep going when a look of pure heartbreak splits on your face.

"I-I don't like being best friends. Well- no, I love being best friends, but I don't- I- I don't like being just best friends, okay? I don't like pretending and I've spent the past four years pretending," Ethan breathes, his whole body shaking.

You've caught on by now, and your jaw's completely slack. It's a good thing Ethan's eyes are sealed shut--permanently, from what you can tell.

"Eth-"

"No, I gotta say this," Ethan whines, his head falling forward. He presses his temple to yours, so close and intimate in a way you've never seen him, never felt him. The two of you are still swaying, slow and steady, blending in with the crowd of lovesick teenagers. And it's weird because it feels so personal, you feel so alone in your own little world of Ethan. You love it. "I fucking love you. And I'm not saying it in that way that we end our facetimes with, I mean that I really fucking love you. I'm- I'm in love with you," he chokes out, his voice crackling. He pauses for a beat and shakes his head. "That's not even right. I don't even know if there're words out there that can describe how I feel about you. And I know I'm an ass about a thousand percent of the time, but that's because you make my legs feel like jelly and my head feel like static. And usually, I can just ignore it--well, not ignore it, I can never ignore you--but usually I can, uh, push it down," he says.

Ethan pulls back and looks down at you, his eyes round and doe-ish. His tongue darts out to lick his lips and he shakes his head again. "But not tonight. Not when you're looking like this and acting like you always do. I- I think I nearly passed out when I picked you up from your house," he says, squeezing his eyes shut once more.

You're absolutely gobsmacked. Amazed. Stupefied. Speechless.

"And I get it, I'm shit at romantics and even worse with words, but I mean it. I'm so into you. And this might be surprising since I'm pretty good at pretending like you're a little sister to me-" Ethan pauses to scrunch his face up distastefully. "-but that couldn't be farther from the truth. I, um, I couldn't be more in love," he finishes, wincing at his cliche and the way he's echoing the chorus's lyrics.

You think you might just cry with relief, staring up at him. He's looking at you like you've just saved the world, or aligned the stars, or waxed poetry; his eyes are soft but full of awe, a few inches from yours. And his lips are parted like he wants to say more, but Ethan's right, he's never been that good with words, not until now. Your hearts thundering, pounding, racing in your chest, swollen with love for Ethan Dolan. And you thought he ought to know it.

You giggle with disbelief and shake your head. Your head falls forward on his collarbone and he takes the opportunity to kiss the crown of your head, and you wonder if Ethan feels this inevitability, that there has always been a spark of tension between you, that just friends can't care as much as you two do and remain just friends, that he's got nothing to worry about. So you pull back, inch your lips forward, and check his expression for permission, but Ethan's already halfway there.

You lean in, and press your lips to him softly, graze your fingers against the peak of his cheekbone. He's kissing you back like he's got all the time in the world to love you under the glow of these disco lights, in the mass of these slow dancing bodies, in the middle of your high school gym. His tongue glides along the split of your lips, hesitant but warm and wet and stomach-flipping, and you crack open your mouth with a giggle, slipping your fingers into his over-gelled hair. Ethan slides his tongue along tentatively along yours. He must notice your shudder and feel you press into him more firmly, more sure of yourself, because he does it again, leaving you dazed and crazed and desperate. You cradle his jaw between your palms and kiss him like you mean it, lost in the feeling of love and the tune of a love song.

Subliminally, your brain registers the snickers and whispers sounding around you, but you're too intoxicated by the reality of your constant daydreams to really acknowledge them. However, Grayson has other plans as he claps a hand--hard--on Ethan's back as the song draws to a close, startling the two of you and peeling you away from one another.

"About fucking time, bro," Grayson snorts, his eyebrows lifted skyward and his smirk far too smug.

Your cheeks are burning as you glare at Grayson and the way he's chuckling along with your crew of friends. Ethan decides there's far too much space between you and yanks you back to him, ignorant to your stiffness. "Suck my dick," he snaps back, resting his chin on the crown of your head. After a beat of swaying still, as the sound of a song less heavy rolls in, Ethan says, "I think your lipstick is like, all over my mouth."

You snort. "How much gel did you put in your hair?"

Ethan scoffs and shakes his head, his chin rubbing over your hair. "No idea. Too much."

"It's all over my hands," you giggle, squeezing them in the air and cringing at the way they stick.

"It's all Grayson's fault, the bitch doesn't know how to do hair apparently."

You chuckle and shake your head, so familiar with this side of Ethan it comes as no surprise. What does shock you is the way he keeps his arms tight around your waist, the way he slips a finger under your chin and tilts your face to his, and plants another kiss--albeit tongueless--on you in front of half the student body. If Grayson gags violently and Courtney attracts the attention of everyone with her obnoxious awe's, that's okay with you. You couldn't be more in love.

#ethan dolan #ethan dolan imagine #ethan dolan imagines #grayson dolan #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan imagines #ethan dolan fanfiction #grayson dolan fanfiction #dolan twins imagine #dolan twins #dolan twins fanfiction #writing #youtube

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wmhalliwell · 5 years ago

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the damndest thing

a/n: so i just...had to write something for these two. i mean how could i not? just a little psa, i’ve never read the book, nor do i know the layout of london. just read this for the cute fluff okay? okay.

The tiny, handwritten “Closed” sign was turned out to the bustling street but he walked in anyway with a snap of fingers, sliding the lock over.

“Oh, we’re closed!” Aziraphale called from far in the bowels of the building.

“I know!” Crowley replied, eyeing the less-dusty-than-usual books, sniffing the air for the new copies placed there by Adam unknowingly. They were deceptive little things, fitting in almost perfectly, but he could tell the difference.

He also knew that Aziraphale had been re-cataloguing the whole shop since the aversion of the end of the world.

Keeping his gift lifted in the air, he ducked under a low hanging shelf and slipped into the cozy back room where the angel in question was busy jotting down the last of the titles in front of him, a single smudge of ink on his hand.

“Oh, hello,” Aziraphale said, not taking his eyes off the paper until he was finished. Once done, he blew on the sheet of paper and held it up like it was the Holy Grail--which, honestly, was not as majestic as everyone made it out to be--and smiled, setting it aside.

“Hello, Angel,” Crowley replied, garnering the attention of the room.

Aziraphale’s smile fell just slightly, his eyes falling on the pot in Crowley’s hand. “Well, what’s that?”

“Yours.” Crowley held the plant out. Waited. Coaxed Aziraphale’s hand out and placed the small terracotta pot in his palm.

“Mine?” He looked perplexed, bright blue eyes roaming over the fresh budding leaves.

“It’s a plant,” the demon explained even further.

“Yes. I see that.”

Crowley nodded, fingers sliding into his pants’ pockets, shoulders hunching as he pointed with his elbows. “You have a lot of words here, but not a lot of life. Figured you could use a plant. They keep good company.”

“Do they?” Aziraphale was momentarily distracted by the plant, running a finger across the soft leaves before he frowned and looked up. “Do you have plants? At your um...your flat?”

Crowley shrugged. “Yeah, s’pose I do.”

“Oh.” The angel set aside the plant at the top of the desk, in the thin sliver of light coming through the window, and then stood, smoothing down his vest. “And they are...good company for you?”

“No,” Crowley wrinkled his nose. “They get lazy and get spots or brown leaves and then I have to uh…” He trailed off at the expectant, naive look on Aziraphale’s face. “Spray them with water.”

“Ah. I see.” The angel blinked and rolled back onto his heels ever so slightly and grabbed the front of his jacket before dropping his hands and fiddling with a string hanging from the otherwise immaculate jacket. “Thank you for the gift.”

Crowley begrudgingly accepted the thanks and pursed his lips before twisting around and moseying his way through the shelves and stacks. “You’ll water it won’t you?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale followed him a few paces behind.

“And don’t ever be afraid to put a little fear in it. Don’t let him walk all over you.”

“I wasn’t aware that plants could walk. Was that Adam’s doing?”

Crowley bit back a laugh but allowed himself to smile and shake his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh yes. Of course.” Aziraphale stopped by a stack of books and moved them all a few millimeters back from the edge of the cabinet top. “I will...I will water the plant and keep it in line,” he affirmed with a little wave of his finger in the air.

“Good,” Crowley said softly. A few seconds were nothing, stretching out between the immortal beings, the air warm and a little musty thanks to the books. Eventually, Crowley edged toward the door. “Well…”

“Since I just finished,” Aziraphale said, stepping forward, “we could...we could go to the park. If you’re not busy doing whatever it is you...do. The park or to that new restaurant around the way. Or...or well, anywhere.”

“Anywhere?” He raised his eyebrows and Aziraphale shifted on his feet before falling still. Anywhere was vague and broad and not at all the specific sort of thing that Aziraphale typically said or suggested. Crowley blinked slowly behind his sunglasses. “You...are the damndest thing.”

“Me? No, I can’t possibly…” He got a faraway look in his eyes, thinking...well, Crowley could only guess, perhaps his time pretending to be him in Hell? Or almost killing a boy to save the world? And then, with a tight shrug, he glanced upward. “Well, I suppose…”

“Don’t I owe you a picnic?” Crowley asked, a smile creeping onto his face, ubidden but he didn’t tamp it down.

Aziraphale tugged down his jacket and strode forward. “Yes, I believe you do.” Before even having to ask, he did a small little miracle right there in the shop and a picnic basket appeared. There were a number of benefits from knowing someone for so long, including the angel knowing that if Crowley made a picnic basket it would be 100% alcohol.

Crowley nodded in approval. “To the park then?”

Aziraphale nodded and locked the door to the shop behind them. The Bentley was parked horribly on the street and Crowley headed toward it but the tiniest tug on his pinkie finger stopped him. He blinked and turned slowly and Aziraphale snatched his hand back, eyes wide like one of those little owl babies.

“Shall we...should we walk?” Aziraphale asked, clutching the basket like it was a liferaft.

“You want to walk around London?”

“Yes,” he replied, straightening up and squaring off his shoulders. “It’s not very far.”

Crowley took a deep breath, glanced around as if annoyed but rather he was tamping down his own anticipation and then he nodded. “All right then.”

They began walking, sauntering and shuffling along and soon Aziraphale relaxed a little. Soon, his hand swung at his side gently while he talked about some of the strange new additions to his bookshop.

Eventually, after about the thirteenth bump against Crowley’s own hand, the demon sighed and stopped. “For G--for Sata--for...somebody’s sake!”

“Pete?” Aziraphale offered.

“Sure, sure, for Pete’s sake, Angel, just--” He held out his hand, fingers long and slim, palm up, “hold my hand properly or grab onto your basket with both hands.”

Aziraphale sputtered a nonsensical response. Something along the lines of that not being what he was doing followed by an apology for bumping Crowley’s hand, before trailing off.

Crowley began walking again after getting no sort of answer he wanted, and Aziraphale trailed behind. They eventually got to the park and Aziraphale’s face brightened.

“There, just by the lake, below that tree. Come along!” He started off first, his cheer infectious even though Crowley wanted to keep brooding for at least another forty-six seconds.

The basket came with a blanket, red and white checkered like in films, and Aziraphale shook it out with one good wrist flick and it floated perfectly to the grass.

“There better be wine in there,” Crowley said, sitting down in the shade.

Aziraphale opened the other side of the basket and pulled out a bottle. “Of course.”

Five minutes later, Crowley was sipping wine from a tall glass and Aziraphale was crunching down on flaky crackers and some sort of fancy cheese.

“This is nice,” the angel said after a while, dabbing at his mouth with a neatly folded napkin.

Crowley agreed into the bottom of his glass and set it down on the blanket. Not only was the ground soft with grass, but they were on a slight hill and it fell over, spilling the tiniest drop onto the fabric. Without thinking, he brushed it away into the universe, knowing it was Aziraphale’s blanket and it was meant to be spotless.

“Thank you for the plant, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, setting his plate aside.

Crowley leaned back on his hands, watching the ducks float along the pond. “You said that already.”

“I did, didn’t I?” The angel cleared his throat. “Thank you for the picnic, then.”

Crowley arched an eyebrow and turned just enough to see Aziraphale out of the very corner of his vision. “All this thanking is making my skin get all crawly. Do you have something to say? You can just tell me.”

Aziraphale sucked in a number of breaths, trying to start his thoughts off but failing. But they had time--the world was no longer ending, after all--so Crowley waited.

“I wanted to apologize,” Aziraphale said, leaning forward a little. “For earlier.”

“Earlier when…” Crowley trailed off as the angel put his hand on top of Crowley’s on the blanket. “Oh.”

Aziraphale smiled, tinged with nerves. “Yes well…”

Crowley scooted back on the blanket an inch or two and pushed his glasses up with his free hand before quietly maneuvering his other hand over until their palms met. “This isn’t too fast for you?” His voice came out softer than he’d intended but Aziraphale heard him just fine.

“Perhaps the end of the world put some things into perspective, wouldn’t you say?”

Perspective sure. They were both...well, they were their own side, as he’d said plenty of times. Welcomed neither in Heaven or in Hell any longer. No longer having that option was enough to twist around one’s perspective, certainly.

“You truly are the damndest thing,” Crowley replied as Aziraphale laced their fingers together.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #mine #**#there may be some typos but hopefully they're not too horrible

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anna-morgan1901 · 5 years ago

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1. Breaking the kiss to say something, staying so close you're murmuring into each other's mouths ................................................ "Mrs. Callahan." That was the name she used when the proper-seeming fellow at the front desk cocked an eyebrow at the purchase of a single co-ed room between her and Arthur Morgan. The very idea of such impropriety between two shady-looking characters sent one bushy, dark brow sharply up, nearly hitting the ceiling with thinly-veiled judgement as he drew conclusions quicker than a gunslinger draws his six-shooter. Colette herself had no qualms with being mistaken for a working girl-reveled in it even-though Arthur, bless him, was a bit more bashful than that. Cole couldn't fault such a blunt conclusion, though, dressed as she was. She'll swear she dressed properly as to not draw attention, but her short, thick body didn't allow sharing clothes with the other girls at camp and nothing she owned of a feminine persuasion covered her chest to the neck or the tattoo of a pistol on her collarbone. It wasn't for lack of trying, though. Her blouse lost those buttons at the top long ago, the lacy collar standing around her neck, plummeting into a deep V and playing a lascivious game of peek-a-boo with her cleavage and tattoo. The skirt was a bit better, though the heavy material only further accentuated the stark difference between the width of her waist and of her hips. Her homestead heels added an inch of height to her short body, putting her at the ideal height to snake her arm around Arthur's, drop her head against a strong shoulder like a girl in love. And Cole would do anything for Arthur, including spare him the embarrassment of confrontation that she so adored. That included less hesitation than clothing worn on her part when she extended a heavy, corded arm and wiggled her fingers in a coquettish introduction, "Mrs. Cassandra Clay Callahan, how evah do you do?" in an accent decidedly more Northern than her Lemoyne cadence (not that this Strawberry bumpkin could tell otherwise as he took her hand, eyeballing the large, stolen ring on her finger but thinking it better to say nothing.) "My husband is heah on some impohtant business-" goodness she's having fun laying it on thick, in sounding like her mother-"heah in West Elizabeth and it won't do to have his little wife stayin' anywheah but the best. Isn't that right, my Arthur?" Arthuh. Cole bites back a giggle as she throws her gunmetal-grey glance up at him, eager to see him biting back laughter just the same. He wasn't. As it turns out, her little aside wasn't any easier on the poor outlaw, Cole realized a second too late, than being mistaken for a whoremonger. The top of her "husband's" ears grew red, jaw squaring and she nearly feared she upset him. Had that uppity whore Mary Linton written him again, making him sensitive to the topic? They had been engaged, hadn't they? It's a joke anyways, Arthur, Cole doesn't want to marry, you know that, don't be mad. But instead of reprimand he collects himself, gives her this: A "That's right, darlin'," in a tight tone that would sound normal to anybody but Cole. An arm tightened around hers just so-something she wouldn't mind in any other situation. A stiff nod as he takes their key. As they head up the stairs, the homey scent of lumber and acrid cigarette smoke fills her senses. Really, she wonders as her short legs struggle to keep up behind him on the stairs, is having a whore wife so bad? Least I wouldn't up and leave you. It's an odd thought, especially for somebody as noncomittal as her. She'll swear she doesn't love him like that up, down, left and right, just as she'll swear she doesn't love like that at all. It just doesn't come natural to her. Cole adores Arthur, would do anything for him, lives for fucking him and fucking lives for him but it isn't love, it's not, it isn't- He gets her in their room and in one damnably elegant motion has her swept up close, the door at her back and locked tight, and his mouth on hers. Cole is only surprised for a moment before she assumes her role, settling into intimacy like a perfectly broken-in saddle. She gets a hand on the back of Arthur's head, fingering gently the close-shaved fade at the nape of his neck as her other hand slides across his leather vest, down his side, and pulls with all her might to get him closer. He's got one big hand on the small of her back, mouth working against hers almost desperately, moaning lowly when she knots her fingers in his hair and tugs Arthur off enough to breathe for a moment, get enough room between them to shove him back towards the bed. He stumbles back, breathless and glassy-eyed as her thick, pale fingers work her blouse open with no effort at all, rutched navy-blue and lace falling away as a bird shot out of the sky. Arthur has to wonder if her riling him up was on purpose when he sees that her chemise is part of a matched set, skirt pooling around heeled boots and stepped out of with elegance to spare. Her magnolia thighs, thick and strong and tipped with pink lines near her hips, are free of any adornment, the midday sun catching like the surface of a placid lake. His eyes follow her legs from her broad calves to those tempting things to something that makes his breath catch in his throat. The accompaniment to that well-fitted chemise, a pale blue set of directoires, fit like a glove. Intentionally small and tight against her ample hips, taken in to follow the tops of her thighs and sewn with lace, taut on her soft stomach and cupping exactly what he wants his mouth on- "Arthur!" Cole said sharply, snapping him out of his stare. He had the decency to look embarrassed for the briefest moment before she pointed at her bust, "They're up here, stupid." He ducked his head, chuckling a bit as she sauntered over, pushing him to sit on the chest at the foot of the bed, taking his hat and putting it on over her crown of dark hair. She planted a heeled boot beside his thigh on the chest, hands on her hips, smirking down at him as he placed a kiss on the inside of her soft thigh. Cole sighed in delight as his hands ran along her bare skin, lips pressing closer and closer to her core as if asking permission. Denied, she thought smugly as she pushed him away with a hand to his forehead, settling instead into his lap. Arthur looked almost wounded, soft blue eyes wanting, drawing an affectionate, sympathetic smile from his lover. "Poor baby. I'm so mean to you, ain't I?" Cole sang sweetly, hips rocking gently like a sailboat. "Mean as a polecat," he muttered against her neck, biting just above the pistol on her chest. "Some wife." Cole started a bit, the admission igniting a whole new fire inside of her. The words pooled low and heavy in her stomach, a soft groan escaping through pale pink lips as she settled against his lap, grinding down and kissing him hard. One large hand grabbed her ample ass, fingers brushing along the silk and delighting in that it didn't cover her rear entirely. He canted up against her hips just to hear the way she moaned against his mouth, feel her body shudder and thighs clamp down around his to get more friction against her core. Arthur knew Cole well enough to know she was aching now, that sitting in his lap drove her crazy in the most banal of situations, much less when she was nearly naked in his arms, very aware of his cock-heavy, hard and leaking-in his pants. A hand knotted in her thick, dark hair kept her from pulling back, kept that whine of protestation against his mouth as he kissed her, got a hand between her legs, his vest being pressed back off his shoulders and his shirt being worked open and her hands on his chest melt his thoughts into an incoherent, reverent narrative as she kissed him and-oh how he loved kissing her, how she was always so ready to kiss him, so unconcerned with propriety and convention and decency and marriage, so unlike Mary and god she wasn't her, wasn't polite, wasn't restrained, she was a whole other beast, she was the untamed West, a man of a woman, ready to go off like a gun and ready to ride or die- "Take it off, Arthur," Cole finally broke the kiss, moaning into his mouth as his fingers worked against her soaked pussy. He ignored her, made her wait, enjoyed the way she played with her pierced nipples and canted against his callused hand and begged him again, whining into his mouth, the command sinking into his brain: "Arthur, fuck me!" Arthur worked a finger inside of her, kissing her before she could shout out in delight, murmuring against her kiss-bruised lips, "Yes ma'am, Mrs. Callahan."

#Red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #annie answers #red dead oc #colette cadence cain #arthur morgan #nsft #ask meme #seanmacguires #thanks arya!!#sorry its long as hell lol

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summerspn · 5 years ago

Text

Batwoman

2019 series > Ep 1-3

*sigh*

Okay here goes...I’m going to break it down for you:

The trailers & ads:

I was skeptical about watching this show as all the trailers for it were terrible.

As a woman I can honestly say each and every trailer made me cringe & go ‘stop!’. They were SO bad.

But, that’s not the actors’ fault. They’re given lines they have to deliver on & Ruby Rose seemed to deliver on those decently enough I suppose.

In the trailers, my biggest issue was the terrible dialogue & poor makeup/wardrobe.

The campy style Batwoman costume & the sloppy bat tattoos...ugh! Why would anyone think that would be appealing?!

Now, onto the show...

There is one & ONLY one reason I watched this show...my mom! I figured I had to give it a shot. But it was not because my mom like it. She in fact, hated it!

My mom, who loves everything from medical & criminal dramas, to shows about witchcraft & medieval times. She somehow even loves campy movies like Dark Shadows. She’s a huge fan of Wonder Woman (comics, tv show & recent movie). She loved the Captain Marvel movie. She is a comic fan and loved Batman & Batwoman growing up.

Yet, she hates this show!

After seeing videos & online posts ALL saying it’s because non fans hate the show because they’re bigots, that’s not true.

The show is awful - so I suppose the trailers were accurate.

My mother could care less what people do for their own pleasure- and like she taught us, “as long as no one’s being hurt & it’s consensual, who cares?”

So right now, just to paint you a picture, neither her nor I care about the lesbian storyline in Batwoman. I don’t care if she’s gay straight, bi, attracted to pumpkins etc. Have at it.

The reason I chose to watch this show is because my mother loves fun well written entertainment & sometimes just silly fluff to get her mind off reality. And as my best friend we have that in common. Our viewing tastes are very similar. So when my mom says something was terrible, it piques my interest (much more than those awful trailers).

The actors:

Most of the actors aren’t bad. Since Dougray Scott is in this I take it as a comparison amongst the others. If you don’t know who he is ...he was in Ever After, Desperate Housewives, Fear the Walking Dead, Hemlock Grove and a thousand other projects. He’s a good actor. However, in Batwoman he has a few mistakes with his accent & delivery of a few lines (much fewer mistakes than the rest of the cast).

But all the actors have mis-steps with their lines & delivery of the lines. Whose job is it to stop them & try again until it’s good? The director

Some actors aren’t as strong as others but after watching the show, I think the strongest actors are: Dougray Scott, Nicole Kang, & Rachel Skarsten. They seem to work with what they’ve got. Trying their best. But the dialogue!

There was a line about Kate Kane having mixed feelings for her sister & didn’t want her hurt because “Duh, feelings”. .... 🙄...she’s a medical student?? The writers gave the actor THAT to work with? Okay...um, they couldn’t have done a second draft and tweaked it? You didn’t find it needed a little more work? Like wrote this instead “it’s only natural to be conflicted...” which makes her sound intelligent. Instead, “Duh, feelings”?!

Unfortunately we come down to Ruby Rose. She’s not a good actress. She seemed to be more talented in the trailers than the actual show but that was because she showed something I like to call emotion.

What happened? Every single line RR delivers has zero affect. Even when she’s literally smiling there is no emotion in her eyes....what only makes her look psychotic. And she moves her eyebrows up & down sooooo much. It’s distracting.

However, she (like the other actors) does seem to be trying. With that said, if you can’t be pulled into the character or the actors’ take on them then it suspends disbelief.

I have nothing against Ruby Rose but knowing she was a model gives context. They work with their eyebrows a lot & any acting they do is for about 20 seconds of a commercial. It’s clear that RR is tackling the tv show like she would a modeling job. Only now she has a s****y wardrobe.

However, she can’t act. She is monotonous & sounds robotic.

I do think though that’s made worse by the director probably not pushing to do enough takes. Sometimes directors instruct actors to act a certain way which makes them sound worse.

Ie) Hayden Christensen acted beautifully in an old tv show where he played a victim of molestation. In Star Wars a Phantom Menace he was apparently told to act more annoyed then angry so voila he came across as a brat...

So I do wonder what influence the director had here.

The wardrobe/makeup:

Papa Kane, Leaders of the Crows, my man Dougray...yes he still looks good in his suits but he’s always shown wearing the same suit. Wardrobe actually helps tell a story especially in a show like this. But it’s like the budget is too small or the director forgot about anyone other than Kate & Beth.

Morning scenes, have him with a little extra stubble, some make up to look like he has dark circles under his eyes. Ruffle his hair. Have him sitting in a hideous vintage t-shirt while they have breakfast. Kate could see how awful he looks and ask “did you get any sleep?” Then they could talk about how worried he is for the city, Kate, or even thinking about Beth! Kate could see the shirt & go “didn’t I get you that?” And he says “yeah for my birthday” and she says “that was ten years ago”.Boom! Shows he loves his daughter & a tiny bonding moment. ...but this never happened.

Luke Fox. Somehow they took an attractive actor and made him look about 20 years older just by wearing glasses that belong to Angela from Who’s the Boss!

Give Luke some 2019 glasses that sit properly on his nose! And the same for the rest of his clothes. They don’t fit right. The show is trying to nerd him up but you can make people awkward, nerdy , or quirky without downplaying their looks. Have Fox wear jeans with his vests, or a fun t-shirt with a suit jacket etc.

Kate Kane. She has the worst wardrobe in the show! Though Batwoman’s suit looks tacky & campy...

Give Kate nicer clothes! They do not need to be expensive but they do need to give her a personality.

1) Plaid...why? Lesbians wearing plaid is a stereotype so WHY would this show advertising itself as modern & breaking the barriers have their main character wearing something so cliche? Makes zero sense. However, since plaid (aka tartan) is making a comeback in fashion they could have used it (if they really had to) in another piece of clothing. A scarf, gloves, shoes? (I actually have a pair of red plaid boots which are durable and adorable). Throwing on a plaid shirt is just lazy.

2) Her hair. Okay so if they’re going for the short-during-military-training look I get it but Ruby Rose has the same hairstyle in everything. I wish she’d just either grow it out or chop it all off. They could have had a scene where she’s fiddling with it in the mirror like she’s self conscious about the new do...showing human insecurities.

3) The leather jacket. Sigh... okay this is my personal opinion but I think the black leather jacket in shows is used too much. It immediately signals strength & a tough exterior right? Well literally everyone knows this. It’s not subtle. I mean I love how it was used on Supernatural where the coat had a history but it was tied into a backstory and eventually was used less and less. But the leather coat was used more in early seasons (which was as far as 15 yrs ago). Other shows always have the ‘bad boy’ wear the jacket. It’s so boring. I’d rather if Kate strolled you wearing a fun typographic shirt or a basic t-shirt and have an expensive belt because she has a thing for belts (subtly nodding to one Batwoman has to use).

There were many choices other than a basic plaid top and black leather jacket. Wardrobe decisions that could give the character/actor subtle layers or tools to work with. But that too was done lazily.

Set design:

Dark & gloomy? ✅

Isolated & abandoned feeling? ✅

Appropriate to the corresponding event... 🙈 not so much.

Ie) the bridge where the family’s car fell off. Whether it’s done with cgi or finding the right location, the bridge in question was generic. Now if the bridge was higher up and/or there were super super wild & crazy rapids maybe, just maybe we’d believe Batman thought Beth was a goner. But it was actual fairly tame so it made Batman look like he just saw the car hanging and go “hey my shift ended an hour ago” and walk off.

And,

The “secret” entrance to the bat cave is in Wayne enterprises? Wouldn’t that be hard to get to? I can picture Bruce hanging around in the garage waiting to go in...he starts over to the door, someone comes, he stops...ya know because everyone knows him...

It’s just weird. There were so many other options.

Special effects:

Some have been pretty bad so far. This is a CW trait. I don’t know if they separate the budget for the directors or not. Is it all one lump number or are they told ‘this is for the production & this is for the special effects?’. I wonder because other CW shows seem to have tiny budgets allocated to the effects. In any case, a show about super villains & heroes needs bigger budgets so it looks more believeable.

The writing:

The writing is just bad. Writing lines like “duh sisters” for a character who is supposed to be educated & intelligent seems ridiculous.

Question - if Bruce Wayne has family why didn’t he stay with them when his parents died? Or they with him? Is this a plot hole from the comics or just this show?

Unrealistic. Yes it’s a superhero story but we care less if the person has all their skills & abilities immediately.

My bff and I love superhero shows but we both had the same problems here as with Supergirl. She just had her powers & didn’t really struggle with them. I watched 2 episodes & was bored already.

Batwoman was so boring but I wanted to see if it got better. It hasn’t.

This show needed to spend episode 1 where she’s discovering how bad Gotham was without Batman & where he went. Is he doing a really long pub crawl? Saving people in another country/city? Dead? Kate shows zero concern for her missing cousin & for some reason, hates him.

Kate immediately knowing how to use the bat equipment with zero practices...how at the beginning she’s swimming in ice water for no reason and doesn’t get hypothermia?? That’s all very unbelievable.

Kate is written as Mary Sue. She knows all & has the most skills in the world! Why??? Okay so she was in the military so yeah give her a backstory of taking taekwondo classes or something but for her to know how to do Luke Fox’s job better than he does? Or where the cameras are at Wayne Enterprises...more than the security team?? And to know what the computer password is, okay... basically she has to be great at everything & the other characters have to be written dumb in order for Kate to be appealing. Why?

Bashing Batman...in a show based in the bat-universe. Terrible move. Kate doing this repeatedly makes us think she’s a villain. Not a hero.

Bashing everyone with male genitalia...makes Kate look like a pr*ck. You can hate certain men you’ve known but to constantly reference women as being superior to men...

1) negates equal rights. You can’t be equals if you act/think/say you’re superior.

2) any boys watching this show is going to feel like something is wrong with them.

3) it’s sexist.

Just like many of us women grew up hearing repeatedly that men were better at this & that...

4) male bashing IS spreading hate. STOP.

That is actually why (more than anything) I didn’t want to watch in the first place because of how the trailers made it sound like they were bashing a whole gender.

Too much too soon. Revealing Alice is Beth in the first episode? Why? Drag it out an episode or 2. Each episode is both boring and yet they try to cram everything into a single episode it’s bizarre.

Ridiculous scenarios. Like Batman would leave a child to drown. And why didn’t Beth/Alice just go home or contact the police...or anyone...when she got out of the water all those years ago? Why does Kate keep letting her sister go when the woman is a multi-murderer?!

Yes, Kate is still hung up on her ex but it was years ago & she was the one dumped. And Sophie is married so Kate is coming off like a stalker 👀

All of it makes Kate look unsympathetic & unlikeable. The show isn’t funny except when we hear bad dialogue. It’s trying to be overly dramatic like a soap opera but it still doesn’t work. I think that’s due to the writing & the directing.

Now don’t get me wrong, even with RR’s lack of acting skills there are ways of making it work...that weren’t done.

Keanu’s Reeves isn’t the most skillful actor but he tries. He’s good at certain things & sticks to it. He knows where his skills are. Yes he’s improved but he’ll never be able to pull off an intense dramatic role. So he sticks to what he’s good at. He’s also a good person & tries to talk openly & intelligently about things so he has people’s respect IRL.

Ruby Rose has been touchy & volatile about people criticizing Batwoman. That made me lose what little respect I had for her.

Awhile back I had tried watching this design show (yes I like those too) Love it Or List It Vancouver. The show was fine but the designer Jillian was being critiqued left right & Center on social media after the pilot episode for sounding like a child. She used phrases such as; “totally”,”for sure” , and used the word ‘like’ a thousand times... she really did sound like a valley girl. However, about 5 episodes later that was gone. She was speaking more eloquently and more grown up - which in turn made people like her more. She & the show worked to help improve her speech patterns so it wouldn’t be distracting. And the show has been around for years now.

My point? RR could have taken the criticism & worked with it. I get she’s probably upset as she worked hard but we all go through it. We all have a project of some kind at work that falls flat. We take the criticism & try to improve. RR could take acting lessons or at the very least, practice in the mirror.

Most of the other issues I’ve mentioned are a result of the awful writing, poor direction & likely some interference from the network.

What this show should never have done was act superior. That’s being a douche. Anytime I see or hear someone being arrogant like that I just roll my eyes and walk away (or in this case, turn the channel).

If anyone working for the CW and/or Batwoman reads this I hope you’ll take some pointers.

I like myself too much though to subject myself to anymore episodes though. I’m done. ✌️

#batwoman #tv serials #tv #tv shows #cw #ruby rose #dougray scott #elizabeth anweis #rachel skarsten #nicole kang #camrus johnson #gabriel mann #giles panton #meaghan tandy #kate kane #batman #batman bashing #woke #woman

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isitgintimeyet · 6 years ago

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The Ties That Bind

AO3

Thanks again for all the likes and comments and reblogs and for reading it, of course!

Happy Valentine’s Day... and in that spirit, some more J & C time coming up. NSFW warning!

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta

Chapter 9: A Morning Intervention

Then I examined my own heart. And there you were. Never, I fear, to be removed. - Jane Austen Emma

Sunlight through a chink in the curtains woke Jamie up. Initially disorientated in these unfamiliar surroundings, he reached for his watch and squinted, 5:50. Lying on his back, he looked round the bedroom as best as he could, trying not to move, not wanting to disturb Claire sleeping next to him, her round arse rammed tight against his hip, her feet resting against his calves. He gently ran a finger down her spine. A brief moan sounded from Claire before she resumed the regular breathing of deep sleep.

Like the living room, the bedroom was decorated in neutral tones with light oak furniture. Although last night Jamie’s mind was otherwise engaged, he could now appreciate that the bed linen, a simple coffee and cream design, was very luxurious cotton. The aroma of essential oils permeated the room, mingling with the musky scent of sex.

In contrast to the classic simplicity of this room, the wall opposite the bed was dominated by a huge print of a single scarlet poppy, painted as if under a microscope, one flower filling the entire frame. To him, it was a very powerful and somehow sensual image. This room was the embodiment of Claire, outwardly very calm and ordered but with an undercurrent of passion and sensuality. Jamie found it a very arousing combination.

He rolled over to spoon Claire. Instinctively, she moved her hips, snuggling her bottom in closer to Jamie. He reached round and cupped her breast, feeling the nipple harden. Claire sighed contentedly as Jamie drifted back to sleep.

******

Claire woke to find herself enveloped by a giant Scot, one breast cupped in a large hand, with an insistent stiffness prodding her bottom. She reached behind to touch him.

“Turn around. Hold me properly.” Jamie’s voice rumbled into the back of her neck.

“Don’t want to breathe on you… garlic breath.”

“Dinna be daft, Sassenach.” The rumbling continued, the breath on her neck sending little spasms of pleasure through her body. “We both have garlic breath. That means we canna smell it. So, like I said, turn around and hold me properly.”

Claire turned to face Jamie. “Good morning.” She smiled.

“Aye, ’tis...’tis a good morning.”

Claire’s hands roamed over Jamie’s chest, enjoying the feel of the wiry ginger hairs. Her mind couldn’t help but think about the differences between Jamie and Frank - a warrior's body and an academic’s body. Even though Jamie had obvious intelligence and emotional sensitivity, he still exuded strength and controlled power, a throwback to his grandsires that founded the distillery and even earlier. With Frank, on the other hand, it had all been cerebral, with an artist’s physique, yet somehow missing that emotional sensitivity. She cast the thought of Frank and his inadequacies aside and focused on the man that was in her bed, her mind and, dare she say, her heart?

Jamie took her hand and guided it lower to caress him fully. “Aye, that’s it. Like that.” He moaned.

Licking his chest, she slowly trailed her tongue down his body, swirling in his belly button before reaching her goal.

As she took him in her mouth, he spoke hoarsely. “If ye dinna want tae do this, that’s fine, I understand.” The longing and hunger in his voice made a lie of his statement.

She put her finger to his lips to hush him as she set about her business.

******

“Five more minutes lying here, then I’m going to have a shower.”

“Ye said that ten minutes ago, Sassenach.”

“I know, but I’m so comfy… and sweaty. It’s like sleeping next to a radiator. Are you always so warm?”

“Aye, I must jes’ be a hot blooded creature.”

Jamie blew gently in her ear. Looking up, he added. “That picture on the wall…it’s very powerful.”

“Oh yes, it’s a print of a Georgia O’Keeffe painting. I love it, there’s something about her work. Definitely a power to it. You know, despite her denying it, art critics have argued that her flower pictures actually depict female genitalia. Can’t really see it with that picture, but I get what they mean with other paintings. Intentional or not, there is a certain eroticism to them. Perhaps it’s because we’re just not used to seeing art created from a female perspective? Or because female power is erotic? I don’t know… I just love it.”

Claire slipped from his grasp and climbed out of bed. Jamie watched as she headed for the bathroom, an idea forming in his head.

In the shower, Claire closed her eyes and let the water rush over her. She wasn’t sure how long she had been in there and was about to get out, when she heard the shower door open and Jamie stepped in behind her. Claire didn’t turn around or say a word. Jamie lifted her damp curls and kissed the back of her neck, running his fingers down her spine, all the way from neck to the cleft of her cheeks – his touch so light. He did this again and Claire felt her insides melt. Still not turning round, she put her hands against the wall for support. Jamie came closer to her, pressing his body against her back, putting his arms around her, all the while kissing and nibbling her shoulders and neck. Claire could feel how aroused he was, his hardness rubbing against her back. His hands moved to Claire’s breasts – his fingers played with the already hard nipples, pinching and teasing, then gently massaging them with a barely there touch as he ground his erection into her back. One hand slowly travelled down her body. Claire set her legs apart slightly, and allowed his hand to move between them and start rhythmically rubbing and caressing. She could feel her climax start to build in her core, sending sparks shooting all over her body, now feeling very sensitive. She moaned involuntarily, causing Jamie to increase the rhythm of his strong fingers. With a huge great explosion of pleasure, Claire reached her peak and collapsed on to Jamie. She turned to face him, her legs feeling very unsteady. He smiled and kissed her tenderly on the lips. She pushed him out of the shower and reached for two towels. Taking his hand, she led him back into the bedroom and onto the bed.

******

The angry grumbling of Jamie’s stomach finally forced the pair to get out of bed. Jamie wrapped a towel around his middle as Claire quickly donned a thin strapped vest top and pair of running shorts. He grabbed her round her waist and held her close.

“How can ye be jes’ as sexy in clothes as naked, Sassenach? I would throw ye tae the bed and ravish ye again, if it wasna for ma belly complaining.” His stomach groaned in agreement. “Have ye any bacon?”

Claire pulled away laughing. “Yes, you go and sit yourself down, I’ll make some coffee and a bacon sandwich. You definitely deserve it.”

Jamie moved into the living room and sat on the sofa, contentedly listening to Claire pottering in the kitchen, brewing coffee and grilling bacon. He moved a cushion to settle himself more comfortably. Down the side of the sofa cushion, he noticed a bit of tissue. Pulling it out, he saw it was an old napkin, with writing on. He read:

Standard Operating Procedure for a Fling

1. Looks good in a kilt and out of one too

2. No complications

3. Enjoys a drink, likes to let hair down

4. Loves the X Files, watches repeats

5. Fancies you as you are

Jamie suddenly remembered where he’d seen that nurse before. She was in the pub when he was with Geneva, she came back to retrieve this manky old napkin for ‘scientific research’. Was that what Claire thought this was, just a fling? That he was just some man who happened to fit these criteria? For a bit of fun and then move on? Jamie’s stomach lurched. Surely not, Claire wouldn’t share those stories of her childhood if this were a fling? Would she?

Claire came in carrying two mugs of coffee to see Jamie sitting ashen faced holding… Oh God no, not that blasted list. He handed it to her, not quite making eye contact.

“Is that what this is… a fling, then? Did ye and yer wee friend just look fer any suitable man tae meet yer needs?”

Claire shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “No, not at all… Geillis and I did that list as a joke. I told her that I didn’t think I was ready for a new relationship just yet. And she reckoned that a fling would be the best way to move on. But, believe me, I’m not cut out for a fling. And I saw you before this damn list. You were at a wedding last month, talking to a petite lady, pregnant. I wondered then… but I never saw you again. And I hoped that I would the next day at the pool, but no.”

Jamie finally looked at her. “I saw ye at the wedding too… well mainly yer arse and yer curls. I wanted tae see ye again. Then I saw ye in the pub wi’ yer nurse friend. I couldna believe it when ye walked intae the cubicle to fix Wee Jamie’s arm. But, much as I want ye, I dinna think I could stand it if what it is between us is only casual. So, tell me now, please, do ye want me… and no’ fer jes’ a bit o’ fun?”

Claire reached over and held his face in her hands. “James Fraser, I want you… and not for just a bit of fun. This is different, and I want, I want...”

“A real relationship.” Jamie finished the sentence, moving closer.

“Aye,” breathed Claire as their lips met.

#outlander fan fiction #outlander fanfic #the ties that bind #Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #chapter 9 #some J&C lovin'

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shipmistress9 · 6 years ago

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FTLOAP: Chapter 33: Bring On The Fire And Bring On The Storm

Title: For The Love Of A Princess

Fandom: HTTYD

Theme: Hiccstrid - Medieval-style AU - Romance - Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Reduced to little more than a stable boy, Hiccup, despite his noble birth, has few prospects for more in life. But when he meets a girl who came to look at the horses, being a stable boy might not be enough anymore. Together, they have tough choices to make and great risks to navigate if they want to survive and be together.

Rating: Explicit

FF-net - AO3 -

Discord-server for discussions and questions

Prologue; Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11; Chapter 12; Chapter 13; Chapter 14; Interlude 1; Chapter 15; Chapter 16; Chapter 17; Chapter 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20; Chapter 21; Chapter 22; Chapter 23; Chapter 24; Chapter 25; Chapter 26; Interlude 2; Chapter 27: Chapter 28 ; Chapter 29 ; Chapter 30; Chapter 31; Chapter 32; Interlude 3; Bonus 1

Alpha/Co-author: @athingofvikings

. – * – _ . o O o . _ – * – .

AN: Woah, what a week! Between HTTYD 3 and RL, I've been a total mess, and am honestly amazed that there actually is a chapter to post this week. And such a long one, too. But most importantly: This is the last chapter of Part 2! (I'm strangely pleased that Part 1 ended on chapter 11, and now Part 2 ends on chapter 33.) So, yeah, this is the last chapter of this part. It contains scenes I had in my head for ages, and as it is with those, I'm not quite sure they came out as I always imagined them. But I'm happy enough with them by now, and hope you'll enjoy them too.

More importantly though: I'll go on another scheduled hiatus now. I'm sorry that there was no prior warning, but... Well, I need a little time to properly outline the events and content of Part 3, especially since athingofvikings and I are discussing what to include from HTTYD 3, expanding out details in plotting from my original outline. For my own sanity, I also want to write out a full draft and build up a buffer for the summer. Posting will resume April 5th, 2019. For everyone interested: Feel free to contact us on @athingofvikings ‘ Discord server.

This chapter's title comes from the song 'Invincible' by Ruelle. It feels oddly fitting, both for this chapter on its own and for the upcoming Part 3. ;)

. o O o .

When she heard the voices of her ‘brothers’, Astrid was up and awake in an instant.

Shit!

What were they doing here?

Hastily, she sat up, perking up her ears. Could she’ve been wrong? There was nothing now, only the silence of the night. Had it just been her fears that had made her imagine those voices? Maybe it had just been a dream altogether? But no, there it was again. She knew Eret’s voice and Dagur’s cackling laughter too well to be wrong.

And judging by their volume, they already were close.

Within only a second, she was on her feet, frantically looking around for a place to hide, but came up empty-handed. The back of Hiccup’s sleeping stall was packed with straw bales, but they were stacked too tightly to hide between them, and it was too late to leave the stall and look somewhere else.

With her heart beating in her throat, Astrid wrapped herself into Hiccup’s blanket -- even as something like a desperate hysterical laugh bubbled up inside her. Yeah, right. Hiding the fact that she’d been lying in Hiccup’s bed, half-naked, would totally help if they found her here.

Praying to all the Gods she knew, she pressed herself into a corner of the stall, the last one that would be visible should someone look in here. Maybe they wouldn’t even come in at all? Maybe they’d just drop Hiccup off and leave?

The sound of the door opening was audible, and Astrid reflexively held her breath as definitely more than one pair of feet entered the stables. Oh, please!, she prayed. Please don’t let them find me!

“All right,” came Hiccup’s voice. “You’ve accomplished your goal and got me here without an accident. Thanks, guys. Really. But now, I’ll be okay. Shoo. Off with you.” He sounded… strange somehow, but Astrid didn’t have the nerves to further think about that. Not now!

“Are you sure?” Eret sounded worried, and Astrid pressed herself closer against the wooden wall to her back. Why couldn’t he simply leave?

“Yes, I’m sure,” came Hiccup’s dry reply. “You don't need to tuck me into bed.” He sounded closer now, almost at the entrance to the stall, and apparently, Eret had followed him there.

He’d come closer too, stood only a few feet away from her now. If he opened the stall door, there was no way… “Hic, don’t underestimate this stuff… It’s–”

“Seriously, I’m fine!” Hiccup interrupted him. “And I can take care of myself. See you guys tomorrow.”

Astrid didn't even dare to breathe. She could even see Hiccup now, standing in the open door with Eret apparently directly in front of him. If Eret only so much as made one more step…

“Come on, he's fine,” came Dagur's voice, and Astrid almost sobbed in relief. “Leave the boy to his pleasant dreams. We have another one to get into bed, after all.”

It felt like an eternity before Eret answered, Astrid shaking like a leaf, but eventually, he gave in. “You're right, both of you. All right, see you tomorrow, Hiccup.”

“Sleep well,” sounded Dagur's cheerful voice toward them, followed by an unintelligible grunt that sounded awfully like Daniel. Still not daring to move a single muscle, she listened anxiously to Eret’s receding footsteps, to him and Dagur exchanging a few words that were too quiet for her to understand. A minute later, the door to the stables finally closed, leaving her and Hiccup in relative silence, except for the snort of a sleeping horse. Astrid was still too tense and anxious to relax and approach Hiccup, when his sudden laughter caught her off guard. It started quietly, just a low chuckling really, but quickly grew into a full body guffaw.

“Oh, Gods,” he gasped in-between. “I was sure that they would spot you!” He turned toward her, apparently knowing exactly where she was hiding, and pulled her into a tight hug, blanket and everything.

Still stunned, Astrid was hardly able to react in any way, not even when he kissed her, giggling against her lips. “Tha-that was awfully close,” she eventually gasped, still shaking. Countless ‘What if…’s were whirling around in her head, and she still felt as if she couldn’t breathe freely.

“I know!” Hiccup was still chuckling, leaning heavily against her. “That would have been…” He broke off into another laughing fit. “Gods, can you imagine? That would have been hilarious!”

Hilarious? Well, that wasn't the word Astrid would have used! Alarming, maybe. Or terrifying. But then, Hiccup’s behaviour was odd, not really like him, but more–

“Hiccup, are you drunk?” she blurted out, a little incredulously, smelling the beer on his breath. The question wasn't necessary, not really. In fact, now that she thought about it, it was fairly obvious. But the words were out before she could think about them.

“Mmm,” Hiccup hummed into her hair. “Maybe a little? Apparently, Dagur thought our beers needed improvement, so...” he chuckled again, shaking his head against her neck.

Gulping, Astrid nodded. “I see,” she mumbled. That explained why Eret had been so concerned; Astrid had heard enough stories about Dagur’s brews to be a little worried now too.

But then, Hiccup seemed to be all right. More than all right, actually. He wasn’t sick or delirious, nor unstable in any way she could detect – and having been around drunk nobles since she was a little girl, she’d seen a lot of men and women who acted poorly under the influence of drinks. No, all that was different from his normal self was his obvious giddiness and how unrestrained he was. His hands were roaming over her body, never holding still; up and down her back, her shoulders, caressing her neck, her sides, pushing the blanket aside to brush along the edges of her bare breasts. The feeling very efficiently distracted her from all worrisome thoughts.

It felt a bit odd, the rough fabric of his heavy cloak and the cold leather of his vest beneath against her bare skin, but she couldn't say that it was unpleasant. On the contrary, his almost playful touches and giddy laughter every now and then finally made her relax too. Eret had been awfully close to discovering her, but what mattered was that he hadn't. So she made an effort to deeply breathe in and out, let the tension flow out of her, and leaned more comfortably into Hiccup's embrace. Being close to him, kissing and feeling him, always made her feel better.

“You're in quite a cheerful mood,” she eventually pointed out, gasping as he nibbled his way down her neck. And he really was, with the continuous giggling and grinning. She was happy to be with him too, but this still felt like something else. “Did you have a good night out?”

Again, he began to chuckle. “Yeah, we had. I...” he paused, almost choked on another laugh, then added, “I told them about you.”

Astrid froze, and her gut seemed to drop down into her feet. “You– What?” He couldn't be serious now, could he? No, surely not. Surely, he hadn't–

“Don't worry,” he interrupted her approaching panic attack, still grinning and giving little giggles but somewhat steadier now. “I just told them that I am in love with the most wonderful woman on Midgard, how beautiful and smart and brave she is, and that she loves me too.” He paused to place a lingering kiss just below her ear. “I didn't mention your name, they don't know I was talking about you, but… Gods, Daniel, he–” Hiccup broke off, his arms around her tightening. “He said he’s happy for me. Encouraged me to marry her– you as soon as possible. That he would support me if needed...”

Astrid felt a kind of pressure around her chest, as if a corset was being closed by Ruff in one of her moods. “But Hiccup,” she interrupted him. “I don't doubt that he said that, but… but he didn't know you were talking about me, that he is the one who–”

“I know,” Hiccup sighed. He retreated slightly until his eyes met hers. There was a strange expression in them; an odd mixture of hope and despair, all covered by a light haze that probably came from the alcohol. “I know that he doesn't know that I was talking about you and I know that that fact would certainly change his opinion. But…” he broke off, and swallowed before a small almost shy smile played around his lips. “But it gave me hope, you know? The hope that he'll come around? Last night, I thought that hope was lost for good, so… Yeah, it was good to hear that he doesn't think I'm a complete failure.”

Astrid features softened, and she reached up to brush a few fringes out of his face. “You're not a failure,” she whispered. “Where is that idea suddenly coming from?” She remembered how Eret the Elder, the old goat, had spoken about Hiccup in that way, and how Hiccup had reacted when she’d repeated those words. But that was ages ago. It had never come up again since then, so why did he mention it now?

But he just shrugged, and averted his eyes. “Doesn't matter,” he muttered, then pulled her closer again until his face was thoroughly buried between her hair and her neck. “All that matters is that you're here. Freya, Astrid, I– I love you. So much!”

Chuckling weakly, Astrid turned her head until her lips touched his skin. “I love you too.”

She couldn't really say how they ended up rolling around on the straw-covered ground a few minutes later. All she knew was that there was something unrestrained and wild, almost feral even, about Hiccup's actions. The way his hands roamed over her skin, searching and exploring, intense, his kisses hot and almost demanding. It left her dizzy and wanting, especially when he focused all his attention on her breasts. She'd never known how sensitive that part of her body was, but, Freya, every time his work-roughened hands palmed her, fingers brushing over or pinching her nipples, she couldn't help but moan and writhe beneath him. And when she felt the damp heat of his mouth, his wet tongue stroking, the suction, his teeth nibbling and biting, all she could do was scream.

“Quiet, you'll scare the horses,” he mumbled against her skin as she floated down from one of those intense explosions. A part of her wanted to chide him for the clearly audible smirk in his voice, but the by far bigger part didn't care.

“Y-your fault,” she panted, chest heaving. “Freya, how are you doing this? How… what…” she broke off when her words kept incoherently tumbling out of her mouth. She needed better words!

Hiccup, the intensity of his touches not dwindling in the slightest, chuckled. “It… has many names. But the most common would be an ‘orgasm’. Or a climax. Or I’ve even heard ‘little death’ for the really good ones that just knock you flat. And as for how… I'm amazed myself how… responsive you are.” He lowered his head, and drew another loud moan out of her by ardently playing her nipple with his tongue. “Seriously, I could do this all day and never get bored.”

“Uhh uh…” Astrid made, already feeling the tingles of another orgasm, as Hiccup had called it, pooling in her belly when his hand wandered down her body and beneath her skirts. Clutching at his shoulders in a desperate attempt to anchor herself was all she could do when his hand between her thighs stroked that fire within her once more. It took only a few minutes until a second orgasm wrecked her body, leaving her stunned and trembling, unable to comprehend much beside Hiccup placing soft kisses all over her skin.

“Gods, you’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, his voice low and rough. “As if you were glowing…”

His breath tickled, making her giggle giddily, and she reached out with weak arms to pull him up and into a kiss. He complied easily and eagerly, his unusual intensity still not dulling in the slightest. Astrid wouldn’t complain, she loved how tactile he was, how his hands – his whole body, really – wouldn’t stop moving, exploring. It made her want to do the same, to feel him.

Barely ever stopping kissing him, she managed to get Hiccup out of his tunic, with his cloak, vest, and shoes having already been shed. It didn’t take much for her to get over her initial hesitation, to explore him with the same eagerness he showed, hands running over muscles and scars, gripping and stroking. Their kisses grew more heated and distracted, and everything around them seemed to fade away. There was nothing else anymore, nothing but him. And she wanted all of him.

Humming against his lips, she led her hand glide down his front, over his stomach, until she felt rough fabric. There was a last spark of shyness, but she quickly brushed it aside. This was Hiccup, and there was no reason to ever be shy or hesitant with him. She wanted to move on, to feel him, this last part of him she didn’t really know at all. She wasn’t even sure what she’d planned, whether she wanted to feel him through the fabric of his trousers, more aware of the sensation than when they were making out, or whether she wanted to let her hand slide beneath the fabric, to feel hot skin and more, things she barely knew anything about.

But before she could do either, his hand was around her wrist. With an almost pained groan and a shake of his head, he pulled her hand away, his fingers entangled with hers as he resumed kissing her with renewed vigour. The way he moved, grinding against her, and his groans and grunts quickly distracted her from wondering again. It all simply felt too good to bother, to think, and all she wanted was to follow where he led her. Especially when it made her body throb so wonderfully, made tension coil tight before it burst and washed through her in thrilling waves. It felt as if she could never get enough.

“Oh, f– A-astrid!”

She barely registered Hiccup’s muffled groan against her shoulder or how his body coiled tightly only to shudder and shake a second later. In fact, she didn’t register anything, basking in an incredible rush that left her dizzy, until Hiccup slumped down onto the straw next to her. Right now, she could completely understand that ‘little death’ nickname for this feeling. He was panting, his eyes on her still dazed as he reached out to brush her sweaty fringes out of her face.

“I still have no idea what I ever did to deserve this – to deserve you,” he mumbled, voice slurring heavily.

Astrid wanted to reply that it was the same the other way around, but when she finally managed to make her eyes focus on him, he seemed to be half-asleep already. Well, the last couple of days had been busy, it was late, and he wasn’t exactly sober anyway.

For a few minutes, she just watched him with a lazy smile on her lips. He looked beautiful, so peaceful and relaxed, the corners of his mouth tugged up in the slightest of smiled. And yet…

And yet, there had been something earlier, something that bothered her more the more she thought about it. Slowly, her smile faded into a frown. Why had he done that, not just tonight but last night, too? Everything else had been wonderful, perfect even, but this…

For some while, she went through one possible explanation after the other in her mind, not really liking any of them. And it was futile anyway. She should simply ask Hiccup what that had been about, hoping that the explanation wouldn’t be–

No, none of that anymore, she chided herself. She needed to ask Hiccup, everything else wouldn’t get her anywhere. But gazing at his sleeping face, she had to acknowledge that now clearly was not the right time to do so.

With a sigh and a slight grimace, she pushed all these confusing thoughts aside in favour of getting at least a little sleep tonight, reached for the blanket behind Hiccup to cover them both, and then snuggled against his warm chest. Tomorrow, she thought to herself. Tomorrow, I will ask him. Whenever I get the chance...

. o O o .

Fighting to keep a pained groan inside, Hiccup reached up to rub his temples and simultaneously cover his eyes from the ray of sunlight which was breaking through the clouds occasionally. Being here as part of the farewell-party for the Crown Prince was an honour, even with the official explanation simply being that he was bringing Trample, and he didn't intend to embarrass himself by letting his hangover show too much. He knew that Daniel wasn't feeling any better, but the Prince somehow managed to appear composed, so Hiccup could do the same.

And appearing composed was important in more than one regard anyway. After their fun night out last night, Hiccup was confident again that it was more than just this official reason that allowed him to be here. But it was still an official occasion – and the last one where Daniel could notice anything, no less – so Hiccup made an effort not to even look at Astrid. But he still couldn’t help but listen.

“Promise me to be careful, okay?” Astrid’s voice as she tightly hugged her brother easily reached Hiccup’s ears where he stood next to Eret, even with how low and muffled it was.

“I’m always careful,” Daniel replied, smiling encouragingly at his sister as he retreated. “You’ll see, I’ll be back before you even noticed I was gone.” Something in Daniel’s voice sounded off as he said that, but Hiccup had no time to pin down what exactly it was. It might just be him being tired anyway.

“I certainly hope so,” Dagur chimed in, his trademark grin plain across his face. Nothing seemed to be able to dull his bright mood, not even one of his friends heading off into a war zone. “Because it’s all getting real now, you know? And I can’t wait to be a part of it all this summer. Thor, it feels like forever until then!”

Daniel grimaced slightly, but didn’t comment further. He accepted Dagur’s goodbye hug with something of a forced smile, then turned to Eret. As they hugged too, Hiccup heard murmured words he wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear.

“Promise me to keep an eye on her for me.”

“I always will,” Eret replied, voice equally low. “Don’t worry. As long as we stay here, nothing will happen to her.”

Again, Hiccup noticed a grimace crossing Daniel’s face, but it was gone in the blink of an eye. He just nodded, lips tight, then turned toward Hiccup. Giving him a hug too seemed inappropriate, and with him holding Trample it wasn’t practical anyway, so Hiccup simply reached out to shake Daniel’s hand. He was relieved when Daniel returned both the gesture and his honest smile. Apparently, all his worries from the night of the grand blot had been for nothing after all – at least in regards to their friendship. “Have a good journey,” he said. “And good luck with Redpeak. I hope it all works as planned.”

Hiccup wasn’t sure how, but that seemed to have been the wrong thing to say. Daniel winced, confusing Hiccup with a strange look and a slight shaking of his head, but it was too late to take his words back.

“Redpeak?” Eret inquired, clearly surprised. “That again? I thought you couldn’t go to Redpeak this winter.”

Hiccup threw Eret a confused look. He and Daniel had talked about little else lately, including planning the last details last night in the tavern. Where else was Daniel supposed to go? “Why shouldn’t he?” he asked, clearly puzzled, then turned back to Daniel. “I thought it was your plan to get it usable for this summer? Wasn’t that why you asked to pin down which alterations would be manageable in the short time?”

Now it was on Eret to look confused, and even Dagur leaned in. “But… weren’t you lamenting about how you won’t be able to work on Redpeak only one week ago?” Dagur asked. “I clearly remember it. It was my accolade, and…”

“And you said you can’t change the plans anymore,” Eret added, nodding. “Something about logistics, and basic material already being on its way?”

Dagur nodded, too. “And that Uncle Spite would skin you alive if you postponed the repairs to his outposts. I mean, I remember how desperately you wanted to change your plans, but I didn’t think you’d be willing to risk that.”

Eret grunted in agreement, and all three of them gave Daniel confused looks.

“Erm…” the Prince made, biting his lip. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable, but then nodded. “You’re right, all of you,” he sighed, shoulders slumping a bit. “It’s just… something else came up, something… important. I don’t have as much time as originally planned after all, so going to Redpeak instead became more sensible, as it’s much closer to the city of Westhill than Loki’s Teeth.”

“Something so important that you can risk aggravating Uncle Spite?” Eret asked with a raised eyebrow. “That’s got to be quite something. Is it something you can tell us?”

Daniel looked definitely pained now as he shook his head. “No, I can’t tell you. Not yet. But you’ll learn about it soon enough, don’t worry.” He sighed again. “All I can tell you is… well, let’s just say I highly expect to see you all again long before summer, before you all return home even.”

“So, you’ll be here for Swanja’s birthday?” Eret asked, clearly surprised. “That’s new.”

It was a reasonable question, Hiccup supposed. He already knew that Astrid’s birthday at the end of the winter usually marked the day House Jag’r’s herd returned to Eastervale. It was a day he dreaded, knowing it would be the last before they had to part. But he also knew that the Princess's birthday wasn’t an important enough occasion for Daniel to interrupt his campaign preparations. Or, usually not, at least.

But against his expectations, Daniel shook his head. “No, I won’t be back by then. But I’ll be back not long afterwards. There’s–” He glanced to the side, and abruptly interrupted whatever he’d meant to say. “Uh, where is Swanja?”

Upon his question, they all turned as well to where Astrid stood behind Dagur. Or at least where she had stood until a minute ago. Now, the space was blatantly empty, and Hiccup wondered how he’d missed her leaving. Sure, he was tired and hungover and had actively tried to not overly pay attention to her. But apparently, that had worked better than he'd expected.

“Uh, I don’t know. She’d been here just now, hadn’t she?” Dagur looked utterly confused, and Hiccup had to bite back laughter at the sight. Astrid’s disappearance could be alarming, but he actually wasn’t worried. Not really.

And as if he’d been able to read his thoughts, Eret snorted in amusement. Or maybe it was just that he, too, knew Astrid well enough. “Well, if she managed to slip away, there’s only one place where she’d go. We’ll pick her up once you're gone and make sure she's all right. Don’t worry, we'll keep an eye on her.” The last words were clearly directed at Daniel who nodded gratefully.

“Thanks, Eret. I know I can count on you.”

. o O o .

Hiccup couldn’t really complain about the company, he mused as Eret and Dagur accompanied him back toward the stables. It was only logical that Astrid would go there when she got the chance. According to Eret that was what she always did, and Hiccup supposed he was right. It had been what had let to their first meeting, after all.

Besides, spending time with these two was always fun, and even with knowing where Daniel was heading, their mood wasn't down in any way. The area around Westhill and the Western Mountain Range was undeniably a war zone, but Daniel had the best protection imaginable, and winter wasn’t exactly the time where the Malarians – used to their warmer climate in the West – were most active anyway.

So it wasn’t really surprising that they were in a high spirit, possibly even more light-hearted than they had been during the past days. Because now, there was nobody around anymore from who they had to hide. It was a bit strange though, he mused as he walked ahead of the other two and tried not to be too obtrusive. They had to hide their relationship just like he and Astrid did, but for other reasons and with very different perspectives for their future. Right now, he felt a little jealous at how freely they bantered, their comments much more telling then they had been with the prince around. It stung that, even with Daniel gone, it wouldn’t be possible for him and Astrid to do the same. But on the other hand, he also couldn’t really begrudge them their time, limited as it was. At least he knew that his fate, ordained by the gods, was far better than what theirs would be. So Hiccup kept himself entertained with thoughts of their future, by remembering the images he’d seen of Astrid standing in the doorway to their home and with their son in her arms. Someday, he reminded himself. Someday, that image will become the truth. The thought brought a smile to his lips. A smile that vanished when he entered the stables.

Astrid was nowhere to be seen, but he knew by now that didn’t have to mean she wasn’t here. His eyes directly flickered to the end of the corridor, and, just like last night, he noticed that the door to his stall stood slightly ajar – despite him knowing that he’d closed it properly. His heart skipped a beat before it began to pound hard in his chest. Last night, Eret and Dagur had only been here to make sure he got here. Eret had been worried, but it also had been relatively easy to persuade him to leave. Now, however? Now, they were here to search for Astrid. If she'd just been here, for Markor or to wait for them, that wouldn't have been a problem. But if she was in his stall, that meant it was on Hiccup to make sure they wouldn’t find her.

“Milady Astrid?” he called, loud. “Are you here? We’re all looking for you.” He could only hope that would be enough of a warning, enough for her to not come out of his stall and make Eret and Dagur wonder why she’d been in there in the first place. And to his relief, everything stayed quiet.

“Huh, that’s strange,” Eret muttered, looking around the hall. “I would have vouched for her to be here.” He made a few more steps forward, before he called, “Swanja? Where are you?” But again, there was no answer.

Hiccup almost hoped Eret would leave it at that and go look someplace else, when instead he went on toward the stalls. For a moment, his blood ran cold, but he quickly caught himself again. He had to do something, or Eret would surely find her.

“Maybe she’s in the tack room?” he suggested, words directed at Dagur who nodded.

“I’ll take a look,” he said, and left for the door to the attached room.

Hiccup quickly hurried forward to where Eret was peering into Markor’s stall right now.

“Well, she’s not in here either,” Eret stated needlessly, a clear frown on his face now. “I really could have sworn…”

“Maybe in one of the other stalls,” Hiccup suggested, making a snap decision at that moment. It was bold, but certainly better than to have Eret look everywhere on his own. He stepped toward the next stall on this side of the stables, Cassie’s, even as he was still turned toward Eret. “Let’s have a look; I’ll take this side and you the other one?” He indicated to the other row of stalls, where Hunter, Crusher, and Chomp were housed. Yes, bold indeed. What if Eret instead stayed on this side, to search Squish’s stall and the empty stalls in-between? Hiccup would be too far away to intervene, to maybe stand in the way so Eret wouldn’t spot her or to insist upon searching his sleeping stall at the end of the row himself. What if–

“All right.” Eret nodded, turned to hurry over to the other side, and Hiccup bit his lip, painfully, to keep a relieved gasp from escaping him. He was keenly aware that the danger of them practically catching her in his bed wasn’t fully averted yet, but at least it wasn’t as immediate anymore either.

They went on in silence until Dagur returned from the tack room. “I’ve searched the entire thing, even looked behind shelves and everywhere. Swanja isn’t in there.”

“And she’s not here either,” Eret replied tensely as he closed the door to the last stall in his row. “Hiccup?”

Hiccup could see part of Astrid’s dress peeking out from behind the straw bale where she was hiding. “No, nothing,” he called back, firmly closed the door to his stall, and, after giving himself a second to compose his face, turned toward the other two.

Dagur gave him an amused look. “Did you expect Swanja to be in there?” he asked, nodding at his stall behind him. It was obviously meant to tease him, and luckily, Hiccup didn’t need to pretend anything to react appropriately flustered.

“Well, I don’t know,” he said, blushing. “I mean, maybe she was tired and didn’t want to go back to the castle to do whatever is on her plan for today? There is a bed in there after all, and…” he trailed off, swallowing whatever other nonsense he could blurt out. “Anyway, it looks like she’s not here after all.” He was a bad liar, and he knew that. People had told him so on several occasions. All he could do was hope that this time would be different. That they would believe him.

Eret frowned, but then nodded. “All right. Maybe she knew we would look for her here first. I mean, I don’t know why she felt the need to run off, but it’s obvious that she doesn’t want to be found easily.” He sighed, then grimaced. “But we have to find her. I promised Daniel to keep an eye on her. I mean, I know she can take care of herself, but...” He trailed off, and rubbed his tattooed chin in thought.

“I know what you mean,” Dagur sighed. “She hasn’t really been herself lately.”

Hiccup rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt to appear unperturbed. He felt bad for lying to them, and even worse for leaving them worried; they meant well, after all. But even if he told them where she was, there was no way he could explain why he’d lied in the first place. Besides, Astrid hadn’t wanted them to find her, and he respected that. So he stayed silent.

“Okay, let’s see if we can find her anywhere else,” Eret eventually resigned. “Maybe she went for a walk in the forest, or sits at the swan lake. Or she might be visiting Fishlegs and Heather.”

“I hope not,” Dagur muttered. “I could go without the icy glares Heather gives me lately.”

Nodding, Eret laid his hand on Dagur’s upper arm in a comforting gesture. “I’m sure she’ll come around. But maybe we don’t need to even go there.” He turned toward the exit, but then paused to look at Hiccup. “Are you coming too?”

Hesitantly, Hiccup shook his head. “No. You know better where she might be, and I could only follow you anyway; I’d just get lost if I were to search the castle and its grounds on my own. I’ll stay here in case she shows up after all. Tend to the horses…” He shrugged. Again he hoped that the lie wasn’t too noticeable on his face.

Apparently, it wasn’t. Eret nodded in agreement, and after they’d left the stables and the door closed behind them, he let out a heavy sigh of relief. Gods, he couldn’t wait until they wouldn’t have to hide anymore…

He wasn’t surprised at all when, upon turning away from the stable’s entry, he found that Astrid had already left his stall. He had to be more smashed than he’d thought, as he hadn’t even heard the door. What surprised him, however, was that she stood a few steps away from him. His first instinct was to go to her and take her into his arms, but there was something in her expression that kept him from doing so. It also explained why she’d come and hidden here in the first place. It seemed as if she had more on her mind than simply already missing him.

“Hey,” he began, unsure what else to say. His mind still felt sluggish. “That was… pretty risky.”

Astrid, however, didn’t say anything and just nodded. She bit her lip, obviously chewing something over in her mind, so Hiccup decided to just keep on talking until she’d made up her mind about what was bothering her.

“I mean, what if Eret had seen you? Sure, Daniel isn’t here anymore, but I didn’t get the impression that telling Eret or Dagur was what you wanted either. And surely you knew they’d come here first. I mean, not that I’m complaining. I love to have you here, and–”

“Do you?”

Hiccup broke off, and gave her an incredulous look. Where was that coming from? Scouring his mind for what he might have done to make her doubt him and coming up empty-handed, he couldn’t help but make a hesitant step toward her. “What? Of course I do!” Gods, his mind was too slow, he shouldn’t have drunk anything last night.

Astrid looked at him for a moment longer. Then she moved toward him, oddly hesitant, and stretched to brush her lips over his. Hiccup still had no idea what to make of her behaviour, so he just went along, returned her kiss and pulled her closer when she pressed for more contact. It felt wonderful, right and perfect, just like always – except that Astrid still seemed strangely tense. Or maybe he was just imagining things? His mind really wasn’t as quick as it usually was. Eventually, he gave up pondering, and pushed all distracting thoughts aside. Astrid wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, so if something bothered her, she surely would say so.

With a low moan, he gave in completely, letting her take the lead to wherever she wanted to go, returned her kisses and let his hands roam over her body when hers did the same. Gods, he loved the feeling of her small but sure hands on his skin, the light scraping of her fingernails over his abdomen, tickling, teasing, wandering further and further down until–

Grunting, Hiccup’s hand shot down to catch hers as she was about to loosen the cords on his trousers. Freya, just the light brush of her hand over his bulge had already felt amazing! But this… this was the one line he wouldn’t… couldn’t cross, the one rule he couldn’t break.

Caught between wanting to let her continue and reasoning why he couldn’t, it took Hiccup a moment to realise that Astrid had pulled back from him. But when he did, he spotted a pained expression on her face, just before she turned away from him, arms defensively crossed in front of her.

“I-I think I should go,” she mumbled, making a hesitant step away from him. “Eret and Dagur might be back any moment or… or…” she trailed off, and Hiccup could imagine all too well how she would bite her lip right now, even as he couldn’t see it.

“Astrid, wait,” he said, not really knowing what else to say. What had just happened? “What...” He reached out for her, but dropped his hand again before he could touch her. Somehow, she seemed to need space right now, even though he honestly couldn’t say why. “Why are you so upset? Did… did I do something wrong?”

For a minute, Hiccup thought she wouldn’t answer. She just stood there, back toward him and arms so tightly wrapped around herself that it looked as if she was actively trying to hold herself together. When she eventually began to speak though, her words didn’t make much sense to him at first.

“No, you didn’t,” she whispered. “It’s just… I love it when you touch me. It’s… indescribable. I want to feel you, everywhere and all the time. I can’t get enough.”

Despite the weird tension between them, a smile was tugging at Hiccup’s lips. He’d hoped that she would enjoy their physical contact and was thriving on it when she reacted like last night, but actually hearing her say it was a welcome reassurance. However, her words certainly didn’t explain her behaviour. “And… that’s bad?” he asked carefully.

Astrid shook her head, still not looking at him. “No, it’s not. It’s just… I-I want to… to make you feel the same,” she eventually burst out. She sounded strange, vulnerable. “I mean, I know I have no experience. This… it’s all so new and confusing, and I don’t know how any of this works. All I know is that you make me feel so amazing, and I just want to return that feeling. Unless… unless you don’t want me to. If you don’t want me, then…” she broke off as her voice grew more brittle with every word.

At first, Hiccup could do little else but dumbfoundedly gape at her. She thought he wouldn’t want her? That was… ridiculous! “Whether I…” he began, bewildered. “What gave you that idea? That’s completely–”

“Then why won’t you let me touch you?” she interrupted him, sounding even more vulnerable than before. “I know that I’m not any good, but I’m willing to learn. I just…” She shrugged awkwardly with her arms still wrapped around herself.

“You think...” he whispered, unsure whether she could even hear him. Was she serious? She thought that he didn’t want her to touch him? Feverishly, he tried to come up with a way to explain, to make her understand, but he could only come up with one sensible solution. It was still a stupid one, one he shouldn’t pick. Because he wanted her too much. But Astrid was hurting over this misunderstanding, and if that was the only way to explain himself…

With two quick steps, Hiccup approached her and took her into a tight embrace. So far, he’d always tried to be as careful as possible with what exactly he let her feel of his body, both because he hadn’t wanted to spook her and because he already wanted her more than was good for him, even without her body pressing and rubbing against his cock with every other movement.

But this time was different. This time, he deliberately pressed his crotch against her back, letting her feel just how much he wanted her. The unexpected contact made him twitch in eager anticipation, something Astrid apparently felt too, judging by her hiccupy intake of breath.

However, he didn’t want to upset her further, in any way. “Silly woman,” he murmured softly against her neck. “Of course I want you. Gods, Astrid, you have no idea just how... appealing you are to me.” He paused, trying to think of how to explain himself. “I… don’t know what exactly the Temple taught you, but–”

With a harsh snort, she bit out, “Assume that they taught me nothing!”

Hiccup blinked at her tone; he’d heard her annoyed, even angry, but that sounded like ages of frustration finding a target. However, as she settled back against him, she felt less tense, so that was good. It meant she wasn’t angry – or at least not angry at him!

Swallowing against the heat coursing through his body, Hiccup nodded against her hair. “Do you feel this?” he asked in a rough voice as he pressed himself a little closer, the friction making him twitch again. Astrid nodded. “When they're aroused, men get… hard. And that's what you can feel right now, me being aroused beyond being able to make sensible decisions.” He chuckled shakily. “And it's all because of you. You ask whether I even want you to touch me? Freya, yes, I want that. More than you can imagine.” Oh, yes, this hadn't been a wise idea, Hiccup thought as a shudder ran through his body. Gods, he wanted her so much… And Astrid shifting in his arms and further rubbing against him didn't exactly help either.

“Then… why won't you let me?” she asked again in a small voice, at complete odds with her tone a moment before.

Gasping out another desperate laugh, Hiccup let his forehead drop until it rested on her shoulder. “Because I don’t trust myself,” he mumbled, the embarrassing truth of those words making him glad that she wasn’t looking at him right now. “We both know that we can’t have sex just yet, but I fear that… that if we get to close, neither of us will be able or willing to stop. So it is my responsibility to make sure. And this is the rule I gave myself; that I would always keep my trousers on around you. If I don’t take them off, nothing can happen.”

In his arms, Astrid noticeably relaxed, further leaning into his embrace. “I wish you’d told me about that,” she breathed, laughing nervously. “That would have saved me quite a few hours of distress. Or the whole charade of sneaking away and hiding here, for that matter.”

“I’m sorry,” Hiccup murmured, gulping. “I know it’s my task to explain everything to you, but I’m not really doing a good job, am I? I… I’m just trying to go slowly, to not overwhelm you. There are many things we haven’t talked about yet, but I thought we would do so when they come up. But be assured, me holding back has nothing to do with not wanting you. Gods, Astrid, the things I want to do…” Hiccup trailed off, his whole body trembling with just thinking about the options. Those would be two horribly long years…

“What would you want to do?”

Distracted as he was by the images in his head, Astrid’s question caught him a little off guard. “Excuse me?”

She hesitated, then wiggled in his arms until she’d turned around to face him. There was a mix of curiosity, excitement, and anticipation gleaming in her eyes, and Hiccup already knew that it would be tough to turn down whatever she wanted. “If we could do whatever we want to… what would you do? Right now, I mean. Can you tell me? Or show me?”

“Astrid…” he began, pained, but she didn’t even let him really start his complaint.

“I get that restriction, that rule you put up, and I respect it,” she said, smiling up at him so prettily that Hiccup felt like he could fall in love with her all over again. “But I’m so curious, want to know how it all works.” She shrugged. “So I thought, maybe at least talking about it is okay?”

Hiccup bit back something like a desperate groan. Simply talking could already be enough to make him combust and soil yet another pair of trousers. But she had a point, and not talking would only cause more confusion. “You’re right,” he said in a low voice, nodding. He took a minute to think, but then decided he just as well could stop minding having to wash his clothes more regularly. This was all they could do for now, so they better made the best of it as long as they had the time.

More content now with their situation, Hiccup somewhat regained his confidence. “You want to know what I’d like to do if we could?” he asked in a rough voice.

Astrid, who apparently had noticed the change in him, just nodded mutely, eyes shining brightly.

He moved, gently guiding Astrid backwards until she hit a pile of neatly stacked straw bales. Fighting down a last flicker of nerves, he lifted her so that she sat on those bales, at just the right height. “If we could,” he murmured, his hands sliding down her legs to hoist up her skirts. “Then I’d like to take you like this.” His eyes never left hers as he stepped between her parted legs, always looking for a hint of uneasiness or discomfort. But there was nothing the like, only joyful anticipation. He made another step so that their bodies touched, his bulge against her crotch. Even through their clothes, he could feel her heat, could tell by the slide that she was wet, aroused. It made the heat inside himself burn even hotter; having blood in his head to help him think was not a priority anymore.

“If you’d let me, if it were possible,” he went on, hands gliding around to settle on her hips. “Then I’d push into you now, slow and deep, savouring.” He pressed himself closer against her which drew a beautiful little gasp from her. The sound made him buck forward, making her yelp in return and left them both gazing at each other through dazed eyes. He bucked again, deliberate now, and Astrid’s moan was almost enough to undo him on the spot.

“I would want you to feel me,” he muttered in-between panted breaths as he kept moving back and forth. “And to feel you in return, your tight heat. I want to hear you, want to taste you.” He leaned in to dip his tongue into her mouth, even as they were both too distracted to kiss properly. Astrid’s hands were on his shoulders now, clutching, pulling him closer.

Hiccup let his head drop to her shoulder as he increased the pace of his movements. One arm was around her waist, the other around her back, holding her tight as he kept grinding their bodies together, her sweet moans in his ear. “I want to mark you,” he mumbled against the bare skin of her shoulder. “And to be marked by you. I want to be one with you in every possible way. Gods, I love you, Astrid. And the day you become my wife will be the happiest day of my life.”

Astrid’s response was little more than a string of whimpers, gasps, and moans. He could tell that she was moving with him by instinct, intensifying the friction even more, and he knew that, if someone were to come in now, he couldn’t have cared less in that moment. All that mattered was Astrid, how she clutched him tightly, rutting against him until the most sinful of moans left her. Her orgasms were always beautiful, thrilling, the way she shook as pleasure consumed her. And just like last night, it was more than enough to let him tip over the edge as well. Muffling his desperate howl against her skin, he came, shuddering, pressed against Astrid as tightly as possible.

His mind had barely begun to work again, when her trembling laughter reached his ears. “Mmmh, yeah,” she hummed. “I can’t wait for when we can do this for real either.”

Hiccup couldn’t help but laugh, free and liberated, and it only took a second or three until Astrid chimed in as well. Gods, how was it possible that he was allowed to be with her?

. o O o .

Feeling much lighter than she had this morning, Astrid left the stables a few hours after she’d hidden herself there. When she reached the top of the small hill, she couldn’t help but turn to look back one last time. But just as they’d agreed upon, the doors were already closed, Hiccup not standing there to gaze after her.

It was a miracle that nobody had barged in on them, all things considered; they couldn’t risk blowing their cover now just by prolonging their farewell. It wasn’t for long anyway; she’d be back in a few hours. The thought made her smile, despite the prospect of being found by Eret or Dagur at any moment, and of getting scolded by a whole lot of people for sneaking away.

But it had been worth it. After last night, when even in his drunk eagerness Hiccup hadn’t let her touch him, she’d felt so confused, conflicted. It wasn’t that she’d really doubted Hiccup’s feelings for her… But she had wondered, had feared what his reluctance could mean. She’d wanted to give him everything, but hadn’t been sure whether that would be enough.

Now though? Now, she was appeased. Hiccup’s explanation had been logical and practical, enough to make her see reason too while at the same time letting every single one of her troubled thoughts evaporate. But it was even more than just that. She’d learned another lesson today; the lesson that she could ask Hiccup everything. And she would. They only had a few weeks left, but she intended to get as much out of those as possible, to spend every moment she could with him and to learn whatever she could.

“Thank Odin, there you are!” called suddenly a voice from behind her, and Astrid turned to give Eret a sheepish smile. “We’ve been looking for you forever. Where have you been?”

Astrid shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, I’ve been just walking around in the woods,” she said matter-of-factly. She’d already planned ahead what she would tell him after all, had even taken a large detour on her way back to the castle to hide where she’d actually been. “The moment I return to the castle, my governess regains control over my life again, and I wanted to avoid that as long as possible.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” Eret sighed, and she could tell by the grimace on his face that he didn’t really blame her for sneaking away. “And I understand. But I’d still prefer if someone knows where you are if you need to hide. You know I’d even cover for you, right?”

“Thanks, Eret.” The smile she gave him, though be it an honest one, still felt like a lie. She believed him; he would cover for her, had already done so in previous years. He was trustworthy, more so than almost everybody else she knew. And yet, she couldn’t let him know the truth. She wasn’t even sure whether he would actually betray her trust when it came to her relationship with Hiccup. But if she told him her secret, she would effectively force him to lie to Daniel when they met come summer, and that was a burden she didn’t want to place on her friend. So she just wound her arm through his in a familiar gesture as they walked back toward the castle. “I appreciate the offer, and maybe I’ll even take you up on it. But for today, I think my time is up.”

The walk back to the castle was filled with companionable silence, a last reprieve before life came crashing down on her again. But even having her governess scold her for her sudden absence wasn’t able to make her regret or feel bad in any way. Everything was worth it when it meant she could spend time with Hiccup.

The rest of the day went just as she’d expected. After the scolding came lessons, but in what Astrid couldn’t remember, her governess’s words not even registering in her mind. Eating dinner felt… different though. It wasn’t quiet or boring with the Grand Dukes, Eret and Dagur keeping her and her father company. But Daniel’s absence seemed to hover over her like a dark cloud. It wasn’t that she was worried for him, not really. But with him gone...

At the end of the day, she let herself fall into the soft cushions of her bed, sighing deeply. It sounded theatrically, even to herself, even though it was only halfway exaggerated. Turning her head, she glanced at the wooden horse standing on her bedside table. Ruff had seen how it had been a part of her gifts and probably assumed it came from Eret – and Astrid hadn’t corrected her. It meant that Astrid had felt free to place the figurine into her bedchamber, that she now had a physical reminder of Hiccup right there next to her bed. Which was good.

Now that Daniel had left, her life would return to its usual routine of lessons in embroidery and etiquette, painting and socialising. Maybe she would be allowed a free afternoon with Eret and Dagur every now and then, but that would be it. It was a depressing prospect, and if it weren’t for the nights with Hiccup, she might have screamed.

But at least she had those nights – for now at least.

~ The End Of Part 2 ~

. o O o .

So, yeah... Again the reminder that this story will be on hiatus now until April 5th.

Next Chapter

#HTTYD #Hiccstrid #Fanfiction #Hiccup and Astrid #FTLOAP #for the love of a princess #Hiccstrid fluff #Hiccstrid lemon #lemon #royalty au #hiccstrid royal au #medieval au #Hiccstrid Medieval AU

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